


Rosharan Sexual Practices

by gqsa



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Bath, Bleeding, Blow Job, Bonepie, Bumpie, Chasms, Crying, Degradation, Depression, Desperation, Doctor - Freeform, Drugged Sex, Dry Humping, Eye Licking, Eye Surgery, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Fire, First Time, Foot Fetish, Footjob, Forced Prostitution, Gangbang, Hand Job, Kink, Kissing, Limes and lemons, Loneliness, Marriage, Masturbation, Needles, Nipple Play, Oathbringer, Object Insertion, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Psychopath, Rape, Revenge Sex, Reverse Rape, SOLDIER - Freeform, Safehand, Sea, Sexual Content, Shadesmar, Shock, Sociopath, Stranded, Torture, Trapped, Voyeurism, Way of Kings, Word Porn, bitch, chasm - Freeform, chasmfiend, consentual, cum dump, dark smut, defiled, did, drugged, eyepie, hero - Freeform, humping, injection, insertion, kholinar, lighteye, lighteyes, lost innocence, nubile, profiteering, redhead, rhythm of war, roshar - Freeform, savior, self love, sleeping sex, spren - Freeform, stick, the kal/syl ship that we've all been waiting for, throating, underage?not-really-roshar-years-are-longer-but-will-tag-in-case, words of radience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25519837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gqsa/pseuds/gqsa
Summary: Hey! You'll find some dark and dirty Stormlight Archive smut here. Chapters are not related to each other unless statedIf you enjoyed, please leave a comment. I try to stay active and respond to all comments; I love engaging with you on what you liked, didn't like, etc.Cheers!NEW CHAPTERS with SHALLAN and ADOLIN/creditors/informant/torturer/INSPECTORWhich is your favourite chapter?
Relationships: Kaladin & Laral Wistiow, Kaladin/Laral Wistiow, Kaladin/Sylphrena (Stormlight Archive), Shallan Davar/Adolin Kholin, Shallan Davar/Kaladin, Shallan Davar/Tozbek, Veil/Jasnah Kholin, Veil/Navani Kholin
Comments: 56
Kudos: 63





	1. Moisturizing Shallan's Safehand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Shallan truly brought Veil into existence

He entered the cabin, and there the girl lay, unconscious, in her bed. She wore only her night gown, which revealed all of her chest save for the cherries. On her back, she slept one leg bent, the sole of a bare foot on the inside of the other knee—which was exposed thanks to the short gown. Her safehand was beneath the covers.

Tozbek couldn't do more than explore her, given that she was the princess' ward, but explore he would. Her pale, freckled face shifted as she licked plump lips that were red as her hair.

Tozbek ran a hand through it as he lifted her gown above her knees, past her navel. Despite how skinny she looked, she had some meat on those ghostly pale thighs. A few freckles, too. And, she was as red down south as up north. This tangle was the mess of a true noble maiden. Left pure of everything, even southern grooming lest she wonder why she’d ever need to make her canals presentable.

He ran his hand through it. The pubic hair scraped his fingers as he broke through tight knot after tight knot.

The girl moaned—enticingly so—but she'd not wake. Not after the wine he gave her. That wine he saved for all noblewoman, or the daughters and wives of nobleman, who disrespected him on his own ship.

His fingers reached her bud, a soft and smooth bulb within two neat folds of skin. He stroked it, enjoying the feel beneath his finger, nubile compared to his wife and other broads onboard. His other hand opened his pants, letting out a rather small penis. It had stroked the sleeping lips of countless woman, so his size didn't bother him that much. He had so many names beneath his belt, from lowly dancers, to daughters of Veden and Alethi highprinces, to his crowning glory Thaylen's Queen Fen while her consort slept beside her. Those long eyebrows of hers had wrapped around his cock right good.

This girl was no princess, but he knew a sweet young pussy when he saw it. Or smelt it. They were about to set sail because her vagina was growing wet with his expert fingers upon her clit. Juices like hers, just reaching maturity, had a slight grey colour and stickiness that was lost to older women. That fluid of readiness formed beads that stuck to her crotch coir like opaque webs. He massaged it in, down to her soft skin beneath till she made an 'mmm' sound that begged him to slip it in.

So in two fingers slipped, making wet and squishy sounds _GLOP GLOP GLOPGLOPGLOP_ as he began to drill her. Her 'mmms' grew louder and she clutched the blanket. He kissed her then. Licked her lips. Pushed his tongue between them through her parted teeth. He enjoyed this part. His hand came from her vagina with a great pop—trailing long tendrils of her grey feminine stickiness—and he pushed it into her mouth, feeling the softness on the inside of those pretty cheeks and painting it with her discharges. Now her mouth was basically a pussy. Opening her jaw, he fished her tongue out and held it out of her mouth while he slipped his cock in. He wanted her to swallow him, not her tongue. He let the rough sucker slither back into her mouth once he was safely in and past her tonsils. He kept going, meeting the solid roughness at the back of her throat. And then he kept pushing, which forced her head to turn sideways to the angle of his cock. He leaned his weight and, with a _glug_ , the little throat expanded, admitting all of him and allowing him to bottom out.

Maidens as old as this girl usually coughed about now, but that didn't happen here. Her neck only tightened around him every few seconds when her body tried to swallow. Other than that, she just glug-ugged each time he thrust. Boring. He'd hoped that she'd choke a little. He throttled her a bit, enjoying the extra tightness around his cock until she choked and got even _tighter_. He almost came right then.

Not yet. He hadn't gotten to her safehand yet. He had to save the best for last.

He slowly pulled out of her, and admired that pretty, freckled face with it's pink lips all glossy with her pussy juice. He gently took her chin and lowered it, then spat into her mouth until she reflexively swallowed. They usually licked their lips after that. She did. He lowered the wetness of his cock's head onto her mouth then, and her tongue brushed the opening, caught on his foreskin, and slipped out, carrying away a swath of his pre cum and a strand of his brown pubes. The curly hair went into her mouth and she unconsciously nibbled on it. Her face scrunched up. _That’s it. Eat it, Brightness._

His dick throbbed and he almost came again.

_Not yet._

He fondled her little breasts, which were near non-existent while she lay on her back. His fingers rose and fell as they traveled up and down the rolling hills of her ribs to her small nipples. All these noblewoman had small cherries. Strange that. Made them a little harder to punish. He gripped both, twisted, and pulled. Pulled with the strength of a rigging-pulling sailor. Her breasts became like conical tents on her chest and her back rose off the bed. Oh how beautiful her wince was. Regardless, breasts couldn’t hold a Vorin man's attention long. It was time for the second last part of his forgiveness ritual. He let go of her—she and her little breasts bounced back into place—then he climbed atop her, knees on either side of her thighs, and let his cock rest between her warm and sticky southern lips.

 _Ooh, that's it little girl_. He lowered himself down onto her, letting his weight force her to exhale. She breathed more heavily now, taking her fill of oxygen in spite of him. She was a feisty one, even asleep. Her nipples—which were red and swelling now—hardened and tried to stab him.

As he aligned his face with hers, he rocked his hips, using his Brightness's moistness to stroke his length. She felt so good, and their fluids mixed together with the gentle sound of soft, sloppy splashing. He increased his rhythm, building himself up to forgiveness. Closer and closer.

He just had to measure how much edging she was worth. So, using both his thumbs, he pulled her eye lids apart. Her right eye. A pale blue, glowing from just the moonlight entering through the little window. Like a gemheart. Incredibly valuable. He didn't know whether lighteyes deserved their power, but he did know their eyes were beautiful.

What would it feel like to have a girl like this as a wife? A low dahn darkeyed Thaylen like him would never know, but he could find out, indirectly, what it felt like to be with one.

So, speeding his cock along her heat such that he was humping the girl, he licked her blue eyeball.

The lids tried to close but he didn't let them. He used their feisty fighting back to slip his tongue beneath the skin and get a deep exploration in. A true sailor, he was, fishing in unchartered waters. The eye grew red, bloodshot and dripping. Yes, eyes could get wet. A salty deliciousness. He widened the eye slit and slurped it up.

 _Your lovely little bossy lighteyes are going to burn like flamespren on deck tomorrow_ , he thought, and thrust his hips against hers, pounding harder and harder, licking her eyeballs up and down and in circles, sensations in his sex escalating, edging—pure ecstasy flowing in his veins—edging, edging. Oh, how he wished he could stay at this heightened consciousness all night.

But he couldn't. He let the eye flinch and close tight as he opened and shoved his tongue against the other one, ravaging the glossy sphere into a tasty red wetness. His wife never let him do this, understandably so. It must be painful.

Shallan her name was. A pretty thing, his friend’s daughter. A quiet girl of Jar Kaved whose company he had enjoyed on her way to Kharbranth. Now, she was suddenly ordering him around, just because she had come into Jasnah Kholin's employ. Tosbek was the one who had brought her to the princess!

 _How dare you_? He shoved his rough tongue up as far back into the lighteye socket as her skull would allow, stirring up the pot. Then he pressed his lips to it and _sucked_ , pulling up her juices, enjoying the feeling of her lighteyed sphere bulging out into his mouth on each drag. And on each drag, he _humped_ her, humbling her body into obedience as it sunk into and out of the bed at his command. _His_ , command. _This is_ my _ship._ Oh it felt so good to be in control again. He’d lost his deceased father’s ship yielding to whims like this girl’s, and that was for more precious things than seeing a storming santhid below water. It took him his entire life to earn this ship, and he’d not give up the control of it. Not even for this pretty thing. _Draw_ my _wet creature, brat_ , he thought as his end rose up within his core. It was time.

He jumped back onto his knees and yanked her safehand from under her covers. A pale wrist emerged, followed by a slender palm and delicate fingers. It hung limply, like a majestic flag in a light breeze. Storms, those fingers were long. He slipped them into his mouth, licking them, sucking everywhere, including the clean area beneath her neatly trimmed finger nails. As he ground their hips to mush, the mere thought of a lighteyed woman’s safehand in his mouth threw him over the edge.

His end came.

He wrapped those soft, icy fingers tightly around his girth and used her to stroke himself dry. Squirt after squirt came. He didn't let it go to waste. He blocked it with his other hand, letting it drip back down onto her safehand, oozing.

Storms oh storms, that hand was so majestic, slender, fleshy. His next and final squirt bucked his entire body and shot free. It rose and descended towards Shallan. And landed in her hair.

Oh no. He couldn't wipe that off. But he was so spent, he just fell atop her. Slight as she was, her bosom had ample cushion. He snuggled up, rubbing his seed into the pale skin of her safehand.

Looking back on it now, libido expended, it seemed odd why this hand enticed him so moments ago. It looked identical to her right. But he knew, with all the safehands on deck covered, thinking on these moisturised fingers later would arouse him. So he watched as the cream goo liquefied and dried on their interlocked fingers.

And after a little more time snuggling into her chest, and a lot of cherry suckling, it was time to go. He slipped her shoulder straps and lower gown back into place, spat onto her hand and wiped off the dry semen, then rubbed the bit that went into her hair deeper in. Hopefully it wasn't noticeable. Though, she was sure to notice that the bedsheets between her thighs were soaked—with her own discharges. Perhaps she'd think she had a wet dream. He had no idea how much she knew about sex, just like he had no idea how she could throat his cock without choking. No Vorin maiden had ever been able to.

Perhaps a check was in order. He stuck his fingers up her drying pussy one last time, this time taking note of the thin membrane around his fingers an inch or so in. It felt like a ring of skin. It would be limp and shrivelled if a cock had been through here. Curious. Her hymen was intact. He hooked his fingers and tugged on the thing from the inside, stretching it taut, absently fantasising about breaking tearing it just for the fun of it. Then she can scamper her annoying feet around her future husband's questions rather than on Tozbek's deck.

Either way, it seemed she was a good girl. Perhaps she'd learn after tonight to be even better, someone her father could be proud of.

A bump in the sheets moved, as if the girl had a third hand beneath the covers. He shook his head, and the bump was gone. He must be seeing things.

Tozbek pulled out of his friend's daughter, making sure to give a strong final tug to her hymen. She winced, and he got a foot in the face for kindly leaving her intact. The audacity! He grabbed the foot and twisted her toes, making her groan and wince and writhe and moan. He had watched her kick her slippers off on deck and rub her feet all the way down the side of his ship. Human oils from her prints were going to spawn mold and grime.

He threw her leg down in frustration and left her cabin. The rest of his crew stood in a line outside. He let Yalb in, warning him not to break Shallan’s sails. Then he left her to them, hoping that Brightness Jasnah would try to disrespect him next.

***

Shallan woke the following morning with throbbing nipples. They really hurt. She pulled the collar of her night dress to look in, and found her nipples perkier than normal. Red and puffy, too. Odd. She cupped her hands over them with crossed arms and sniffed. What was that foul smell? A lock of her hair was really stiff, as was countless spots on her bedding and night dress. Her thighs felt like they rested on warmth. Had she wet the bed? She blushed and threw off her covers. Oh storms, she had wet the bed. But, when she had done this before as a little girl, she could smell urine. Perhaps her pee smelled different now. There was that foul smell. Or perhaps the cabin leaking? It wasn't just her crotch that showed signs of being wet. There were all those stiff spots, too.

What wasn't stiff was her safehand. It was soft as a babe's skin. She yawned into it and rubbed her eyes, immediately yelping as they ached right to the back of her sockets. Storms but they burned. And her hand carried that stench stronger than the air. Why did it stink? And what was that aftertaste in her mouth?

So many questions. Something felt very wrong. She felt really dirty.

***

Weeks later, after she'd become acquainted with Pattern, she got the detailed, horrific answers to her questions. She cried every day for a week, never leaving her rooms. Soon enough, she made a personality called Veil, who didn't care about being molested while drugged. In fact, Veil performed out Tosbek’s assault, act for act, on another woman. If Veil could be as bad as Tosbek, how could Shallan hate him? And if she was twice as bad, she could definitely put this behind her. So, while drugging and exploring Jasnah, Veil let Shallan blink Memories of the event and then draw detailed sketches of every way Jasnah’s nudity had been defiled. Veil distributed those around Urithiru.

It wasn’t enough. Shallan still cried every night, and her secret sex with Adolin wasn’t satisfying her anymore. She needed something… more now. She needed Veil again. Veil assaulted Jasnah’s mother, Navani. Tongue in the woman’s eye, finger deep within her mature ladyness, Veil revelled in the conquest. And Adolin caught her. It cost her Shallan’s head, but at least the girl had gotten over the night a man took her innocence, simply because she wanted to do a drawing.


	2. Shallan and the Stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan is stranded in the Frostlands and needs fire. Unfortunately she finds a very unhelpful stick. Fortunately, she is resourceful.

Shallan found a stick. Need fire. So tired. Clothes ragged. Bare feet cut, numb, cold. But this stick.

This stick could be fire.

But Jasnah said that place was dangerous. Was hypothermia not dangerous, too?

Shallan crawled and slumped against a log, holding the stick up before her. She reached for that place beyond places. She saw shadows point the wrong way, and a stiff-robed man with swirling patterns for a face.

He watched as Shallan uncomfortably grasped for his world, searching for the soul of the stick. She heard it, like an echo at the back of her mind.

_I am a stick._

It had been for a long time. She felt that. Weeks, maybe even months of being a stick.

"That isn't so long," Shallan said.

_It was all my life. As a stick._

"You could be so much more. Just think. Flames. Smoke on the wind. Heat. Don't you want to be free?"

A pause followed, and Shallan dared to hope. She pulled up her inhibiting skirts to her knees, gathered leaves on the ground as kindling, and held the stick above them.

_I am a STICK!_

Storms take it! Shallan pulled up her skirts all the way to her hips and, despite the chill and rough sand on her bottom, let her shift ride all the way up.

"I need warmth, you stubborn twig." She lowered it to her shivering bud. "If you won't become fire, you will be a play thing."

_Not twig. Am stick--_

Shallan plunged the twig into her womanhood. Sensation flooded her immediately, and warmth began to radiate from her loins. This would take her own energy, but it was better than nothing.

Shallan pulled the stick out and pushed it back. With the rush of the first stroke over, she felt the roughness. It scraped her folds on the way in and dragged on the way out. Shallan oscillated carefully...

In a little.

Out a little.

Focus on the pressure point. Up. Towards her own roughness on the upper wall. There!

In... _Oh yes._

Out... _Oh storms, Stick._

_I am a stick._

It was her plaything, and it played with her thing. Said thing was setting of sparks within her. Lighting a flame. Her toes curled, pale thighs reddened, head fell back...

Not yet.

More heat could be hers. She could feel it coming. Holding it back set her body shaking. But she held.

In...

Out...

Stroking that special place within. Her knees came together, her breathing became ragged, her back arched, scraping her head on the log as her body refused to be denied its release.

Just a little more!

She moaned loudly and her other hand automatically began to squeeze her small breasts through her ragged dress. Stars above, her nipples had never poked through, never sent electricity into her chest before, electricity that reached like claws of sensation to the fire between her legs, filling her with it near to bursting. She squeezed and stroked within, squeezed and stroked within till the heat surged—Storms it surged. She was a waterskin about to burst! She burst.

A high pitched cry escaped her as her bodily functions broke down. She shook and tremored and spasmed and sprayed. The stick broke within her and its internal remnant scraped her inner spot as she flopped there, twisting and screaming, "Yes, stick! Oh right there. I'm cumming. I'm cumming so hard don't stop!"

No response came but Shallan didn't need the twig to stick her finger into herself and furiously keep her ecstasy going. Wet, floppy sounds flew from her vagina like the creamy grey lady fluid she generated.

She lost the stick within her. Her exposed pelvis pricked with goosebumps in the cold. But Shallan had never felt hotter in her life. She had never experienced such an utterly mind shattering orgasm.

She needed to get out more often.

She fell back, breathing like a marathon runner, hands feet and toes curled up like an infant. _Storms, storms, storms, that was intense_.

She quickly straightened her skirts and tucked her feet in, curling up to preserve the heat she generated. Perhaps now she could safely get some sleep.

She closed her eyes and rested her head on her arm.

Behind her lids was the impression of that place with the wrong shadows. There, she heard the stick's voice.

_I am a play thing._

Deep within her womanhood, beneath her navel, Shallan felt something begin to vibrate.

A pleasureful sigh escaped her as her lips parted. Her pussy remoistened. But worry crept into her bones.

_What have I put into my body?_


	3. Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin struggles with depression and the loss of his men in Kholinar. Syl says he needs companionship, and Kaladin finds just that in an unexpected place

When Kaladin awoke on the ship in Shadesmar, the others were already up. He sat, bleary-eyed on his bunk, listening to beads crash outside the hull. There almost seemed… a pattern or rhythm to them? Or was he imagining things?

He shook his head, standing and stretching. He had slept fitfully, slumber interrupted by thoughts of Elhokar and Moash, of Drehy and Skar, of his men dying.

Oh Khen, Sah, Beard. Men he'd ate, worked, and lived with. Killing each other. Their dead faces haunted him.

Focus on the living, Syl had said. Tarah, too--he still remembered her kiss as she said it. So warm, so tender.

How did Shallan do it? How did she smile and carry on? Perhaps he should seek her out, find guidance, or at least the companionship Syl said he needed.

He used the facilities, then forced himself to climb up the steps. The vessel had three levels. The bottom was the hold. The next level, the lower deck, was for the cabins, where the humans had been given a spot for them all to share.

The uppermost deck was open to the sky, and was populated by spren. Syl said they were lightspren, but the common name was Reachers. They looked like humans with strange bronze skin—metallic, as if they were living statues. Both men and women wore rugged jackets and trousers. Actual human clothing, not merely imitations of it like Syl wore.

They didn’t carry weapons other than knives, but the ship had wicked harpoons clipped in racks at the sides of the deck. Seeing those made Kaladin infinitely more comfortable; he knew exactly where to go for a weapon--

Kaladin stopped in his tracks, heart skipping a beat.

Syl sat on a crate near the bow, watching out over the sea of beads again. He almost missed spotting her at first because her girlish dress was red, instead of its normal white-blue. Her hair had changed to black, and… and her skin was flesh colored—tan, like Kaladin’s. What on Roshar?

He crossed the deck toward her, and found her swinging her legs out in front of her, barefoot as usual. Slim toes bent and stretched with her motions, matching the rhythm of the boat. Kaladin had never been one for hands and feet--never saw the practicality of a restricted hand--but storms, Syl had a nice pair. When he looked closely, he could faintly see that white-blue luminescence beneath the surface of Shallan's illusion.

"You look lively all of a sudden," Syl said, kicking more energetically.

Kaladin's eyes trailed up her tan calves and knees, across her dress--which did not blow in the breeze--up her similarly coloured collar bones and neck, to her face.

Storms.

What had she just said? Kaladin wasn't sure. His heart had started doing a kata and it slipped his mind. She had the cutest button nose, naturally tilted up a little even when she looked directly at him with those large blue eyes. Her full lips--painted red like her dress--curled into a joyous smile, and she coyly basked in his admiration by actually turning her nose up at him, crossing her ankles, and raising her legs to him as if he were to provide a footrest.

"I'm glad," she said, "that you finally see how beautiful and amazing I am."

Kaladin caught her ankles as she trustingly dropped them, and her illusion broke and reknit where he touched her... skin?

Her legs were warm. She bent her foot forward and toed his stomach, saying something, but he'd just _felt_ her push him. He was _carrying_ the weight of her legs.

He had always known she was real, even when he'd thought she was a windspren, but he'd never felt that she was real in the physical sense.

Here, he did. And that realness, that tangibility. It was something he could hold onto, like her words that kept him from falling into that pit of darkness, with his fallen men haunting him in wakefulness and sleep.

Kaladin dropped her legs and swooped down, wrapping his arm around the small of her back and pulling her into him.

Their bodies crashed together in a flutter of stormlight, and she stared wide-eyed at him.

"Kaladin, what's gotten into you?" Her brows bent down in the middle and he couldn't tell if she was worried for him or herself.

"You've always said I needed companionship," he said.

"But--"

"Why can't it be you?"

"Uhm, Kaladin... I can help you practice, if you'd like, but..." her cheeks flushed a bright pink, and the luminescent blue beneath gave it a slight purple accent. This close, he could see that same tint to her lips, despite the red paint.

It was beautiful. He leaned closer, and her nose twitched ever so slightly in response to his breath. She did not breathe, but as she tried to speak, her breath was as warm as any human girl.

"Shh," Kaladin said. "If you want me to stop, I will."

He didn't pull back, but left the last inch between them for her to close.

She looked at his lips then, up at his eyes, and his lips again.

"What is this tightness in my chest?" she asked, gaze meeting his and staying there. "Spren don't have a heart."

"Is it a bad feeling?"

"I'm scared." Her shoulders curled in.

"I am, too."

"I'm lonely. I... I haven't had the capacity to realise till now. It's why I chose you rather than any other."

"I'll be your companion, Sylphrena. Will you be min--"

Her lips pressed to his, awkwardly at first, above and below his upper lip. She hesitated, fearful, but he brought his lower lip up to meet hers and his own chest began to tighten. Warmth flooded him, from her very skin, down his entire body.

Her small body, all tense and stiff, grew loose like a set of armour with unfastened joints. He held her tighter, supporting her weight as she gave it up to him, fears, loneliness, and all. Their lips came apart, only to come together again, pushing out hot breaths from between them.

No awkwardness now. Her eyes closed and her head tilted off its own accord, finding angles to explore the ways their lips could meet. There were so many. Gloriously many. Each time she found a new one, electricity ran through Kaladin's veins until his own eyes closed and he lay her down, back to the crate, and tucked his hand into the nape of her neck, fingers weaving through luminescent hair.

Yes, this was right. She was right. He gently raised her head, pressing their mouths together in an ever increasing tide of kisses. Storms, he'd never felt like this before. He'd felt this warmth with Tarah, but not completeness.

Syl wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, too. His thoughts of another must have seeped through, for she sped, attacked, as if hungry.

"Kal," she said breathlessly.

"Syl."

Their tongues met in the 'L' sound of her name, and he was wrong about being complete before. He reached out again, and their tongues intertwined, connecting them like never before, truly completing them.

His hand slid down her neck, hungry to discover this newfound second half. Soft, smooth skin dimpled below his fingers as they ran over her collar bones, curved into the crooks of her raised arms, and traced around the sides of her chest. His thumbs settled below small breasts and gently began the stroke back up, flicking over the bumps of her nipples. They firmed with his touch, so he slowly circled the erect tips.

She sighed girlishly, and that was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. His body responded to it in a way he was not ready for, and he had to pull his head back before he could not stop himself. Storms he wanted to hear that sound again, to play her like an instrument. Thankfully, his hip was off the crate, so it wasn't pressed against her like his chest was. Her breasts heaved up and down against him, and she looked at him, betrayed, lips still parted, waiting, wanting. He saw desire in her eyes, but he knew she too was not ready for that.

Kaladin hooked her chin with his finger and closed her mouth. Then, he planted a soft kiss upon her lips, to which she smiled.

This was all they needed right now. She understood. He knew she did. Could he and Shallan understand each other this way?

Syl had been right--he needed companionship--but she was wrong about where to find it. Sometimes, the best spear wasn't the shiny new one over there, but the one you had been carrying all along.

Kaladin smiled back, and instantly felt the blanket of darkness peel away ever so slightly. He would still be haunted by his failures, but with Syl by his side, he could focus on the living.

He stood and stretched, feeling awake for the first time today.

Syl sat up and resumed her kicking, grinning like a fool. "You're handsome when you smile."

Kaladin found himself being the bashful one.

"Well," she said, "if you have nothing left to say to the beautiful girl whose face you just licked," she waved him to sit beside her, then dumped her legs into his lap. "Walking around Shadesmar is a bother. These get rather sore on this side." She waggled her feet in his lap--unknowingly rubbing the part of his body that was still quite activated.

 _Oh storms, right there_. Her heel was right between his base and balls.

"Since you so enjoyed the view of my delicate feet and pretty toes, might I get a foot rub in return?"

 _If you keep dancing upon me like that, yes_. But it felt wrong, enjoying that without her knowing.

That pink-purple tint returned to her cheeks. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Kaladin took her feet and stroked. He closed his eyes as she stroked him back.


	4. The Chasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaladin and Shallan in the chasms
> 
> So I tried to quickly adapt one of my scenes into an SA one, but so many changes needed to be done, it just became it's own short story (the only thing that survived from the original scene was the dry-humping to a backdrop of a large moon--which is now a large eye, lol). In theory, switching out character names seemed a quick easy change, but so many things just stopped working with different characters that I chastised myself for not realising before hand.
> 
> Oh well. Was a nice exercise. And this more serious story spawned from it, which is kind of refreshing to write on here. Enjoy!

An eye the size of the crevasse itself looked in at them. A chitinous claw poked in, coming within inches of Kaladin's face, forcing him to press back against Shallan's shivering form. Her arms wrapped around him as if to pull him to safety, or perhaps to cling onto the only safety she had. The chasmfiend yanked it's claw away in frustration and peered in again, hungry, impatient. It's iris, a pool of black thick as Kaladin's torso, twitched ever so slightly between him and Shallan again and again.

"Make it look away," Shallan breathed.

"Huh?" How was he supposed to do that? He was just satisfied that it had stopped trying to gut him. This was as safe as they were going to get. It might decide to go look for easier prey, unless they gave it opportunities.

She began to shiver. It was cold—rain flooded the crevasse and chill air howled by—but this was different from a cold-induced shiver, different even from fear. Her body _jittered_ erratically against him and his surgeon mind began to worry. _Shakes. Irrational behaviour. Curling up to protect one's belly_.

She was going into shock. That or PTSD, which he had no experience with. She began mumbling incoherently—wait did he hear her say "Daddy"?—as she scrambled up from around him.

"Are you mad—" Kaladin didn't get to speak as she pushed him to the back, straddled him--her havah riding up--and put herself between him and the monster.

It dug in, reaching for her.

_Storming crazy Lighteyed woman!_

Kaladin wrapped his arm around her and yanked her into him, chest to chest. The claw grazed her back, sending her into him with such impact, she wheezed and her red hair draped over them like curtains. He felt at her back and found no blood or lacerations to the skin, though he could not say the same for her havah. It was already in a state, but now the top fell off her shoulders. Their touching bodies was the only thing keeping it on her.

He blushed, and stayed put for the sake of her dignity—and of course for the sake of the thing with the eye so big, he could see it around both sides of her. It watched.

And she moved.

She had made a small, harmless motion, but it was over an area he tried not to think about. Tried very, very hard not to think about. He'd felt her thighs on either side of him when she was in the back, but with then weighing on him, clamping him, and that movement, he could tell how warm and _soft _they were. _She's adjusting to keep safe and dignified, man!___

She slid an inch back and _moved_ again.

Storms, despite his efforts, his member came awake and pushed up against her. This was Adolin's betrothed!

She didn't seem to care about that, or the pressure she must feel from below. Her movements made her havah ride up further. It was still safely between them, but it exposed her knees. Even those had freckles. The rocky ground scraped her knees as she pushed.

"I'm cold," she said, wrapping her arms around him and sliding again. "I'm scared."

She was shivering, yes. But it was still that jitter. She indeed was cold and scared, but this was more than that. Before the chasmfiend had found them, he'd wondered how she'd endured being broken and still smiled. He had thought there were no cracks in her armour. He was wrong. Her armour was thicker than his, but it's cracks gaped like a chasm.

"It's not there, it's not behind me," she said as the very thing she spoke of stared right at her. She closed her eyes and slid her hips forward along his entire length, and leaned back in abandon.

"Shallan!" Kaladin grabbed her again, just in time before the chasmfiend clawed her, but not in time to stop her havah from falling to her waist. A freckled chest with frost-perked nipples crashed into him, and he hated that he stole a glance as they expanded and pushed up when pressed to his chest. He should be watching for danger signs. _Heaving rib cage. Fluster. Sweaty skin despite the cold._ Could it be hypothermia? Or perha—

"Make me forget." She deftly slid her hand into his pants, wrapped cold fingers around his manhood, and pulled the member out so that it rested against his stomach. And then she grinded against it from both sides. Her hips stroked one side, her hand stroked the other. Her safehand. Long, slender fingers.

Storms, Kaladin was trying to be the officer he should be to his charge's betrothed, but he was a man and... And doing what was right was more important. He still didn't understand what Syl meant by 'right', or whose 'right' mattered, but he knew this was wrong.

"Shallan, you have to stop." Kaladin removed her hand from his cock.

She leaned back, pouting—still grinding—completely unconcerned that her breasts were exposed to her soon-to-be husband's guard. He and the chasmfiend reached for her, and thankfully, he was so much closer to her than it.

But with his arms occupied around her, her hands returned to his crotch. She stroked it—more like fumbled, completely unaware of what made a man feel good. With her bony fingers and her angle it hurt more than otherwise, but his precum flowed and dripped down. "Mmm," she said as she stroked, rolled her fingers to spread and lace her hand with his fluids. That felt good, and with his arms keeping her from certain death, he could do naught as she fiddled down below. Her havar was moving strangely there and he couldn't see her freehand.

A wet warmness pressed against the head of his cock.

Kaladin's eyes widened. That could only be one thing. He tried to scramble back, shift awkwardly, anything, but all she had to do was sit down.

She did.

His cock bent under her weight, but then sprung back into straightness. She came down with a plop and squeal after that, and her warmth ran all the way down his cock to the base, where her soft cheeks came to rest on his thighs.

"Shallan..." Kaladin breathed, not sure what to say, what to feel. It felt good. He _was_ a man. But that was nothing compared to the dread. There was no going back from this. He had betrayed Adolin. Dalinar. What would happen to bridge four? What would happen to Shallan?

She was kissing him, he realised, and her grinding had become distinct thrusts. The motions made her loom over him, but to him she didn't feel close and small, afraid. She seemed distant and huge, like a Goddess locking him in place, giving him no way out. Her draping hair became less of curtains and more bloody bars of a cell. The eye watching them only served to intensify it, so big that it peered at him from both sides of her. But the worst part was that Kaladin could feel a rise welling up from within as she made motions he didn't want to feel and sounds he didn't want to hear. There was absolutely nothing he could do, barring harming her. She was in total control. It was all about control.

PTSD, he thought. Definitely not shock. The chasmfiend made her feel powerless. Kaladin was simply a way for her to reclaim some of it back.

Shallan wasn't simply broken. She was a monster.

That monster sighed in pleasure as her havah rode up to her waist, revealing long white legs, a pink pussy that dripped grey fluid down his length, a bushy red carpet, and a small little navel set into a slender belly. It jiggled like her bottom did time and time again as she brought her weight down upon him. He could all but watch in his own personal shock as his cock slid into and out of her, a throbbing mass of tan inside a body so pale, blue veins showed beneath the surface. Her maiden blood coloured him red.

"Storm me," she said. "Storm me, Kaladin Stormblessed. Right there. Oh please, don't stop."

He didn't have a choice but to go on till he... he spilled himself into her, tensing, hoping he'd stop, hoping each squirt would be the last because each was a greater risk that she'd fall pregnant. But she kept going, prompting more from him as her own contractions took her, sending her into a squirming, writhing mess of pale breasts and red hair. A new form of shivers took her, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Then, she finally fell still, her pale, flustered skin a heat upon him. He held her to maintain that warmth, and felt sick as his own instincts told _him_ to stop taking advantage of _her_.

He didn't fall asleep that night, and neither did the chasmfiend.

***

In the morning, the monster woke and behaved as if nothing had happened last night.


	5. Brightbitch (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kal and Laral wonder about their future, and Kal is made to act the soldier for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a fusion of a scene from WoK that rubbed me the wrong way, and a non-cannon scene I wrote for my own book. It's the last scene I could adapt to SA in a reasonable amount of time, so this will be the last of the adaptation stories.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“He wants to send me to Kharbranth,” Kal said, perched atop his rock. “To train to become a surgeon.”

“What, really?” Laral asked, as she walked across the edge of the rock just above him. She had golden streaks in her otherwise black hair. She wore it long, and it streamed out behind her in a gust of wind as she balanced, hands out to the sides.

The hair was distinctive. But, of course, her eyes were more so. Bright, pale green. So different from the browns and blacks of the townspeople. There really was something different about being a lighteyes.

“Yes, really,” Kal said with a grunt. “He’s been talking about it for a couple of years now.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Kal shrugged. A gust of wind blew by, and her chastising expression vanished for a moment as she held her dress down. The fine yellow piece was knee length and she was above him, so he saw a little more than knees. He and Laral were atop a low ridge of boulders to the east of Hearthstone. Tien, his younger brother, was picking through rocks at the base. To Kal’s right, a grouping of shallow hillsides rolled to the west. They were sprinkled with lavis polyps, a planting halfway to being harvested.

He felt oddly sad as he looked over those hillsides, filled with working men. The dark brown polyps would grow like melons filled with grain. After being dried, that grain would feed the entire town and their highprince’s armies. The ardents who passed through town were careful to explain that the Calling of a farmer was a noble one, one of the highest save for the Calling of a soldier. Kal’s father whispered under his breath that he saw far more honor in feeding the kingdom than he did in fighting and dying in useless wars.

“Kal?” Laral gave up on her dress and left it to the wind's whims as she balanced, toeing her way back across a narrow stretch. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, voice insistent.

“Sorry,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes from glancing back at her again and again. He'd never noticed how long her legs were. “I wasn’t sure if Father was serious or not. So I didn’t say anything.”

That was a lie. He’d known his father was serious. Kal just hadn’t wanted to mention leaving to become a surgeon, particularly not to Laral.

She placed her hands on her hips. “I thought you were going to go become a soldier.”

Kal shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, hopping down off her ridge onto a stone beside him. “Don’t you want to become a lighteyes? Win a Shardblade?”

“Father says that doesn’t happen very often.”

She knelt down before him. “I’m sure you could do it.” Those eyes, so bright and alive, shimmering green, the color of life itself.

More and more, Kal found that he liked looking at Laral. Kal knew, logically, what was happening to him. His father had explained the process of growing with the precision of a surgeon. But there was so much feeling involved, emotions that his father’s sterile descriptions hadn’t explained. Some of those emotions were about Laral and the other girls of the town. Other emotions had to do with the strange blanket of melancholy that smothered him at times when he wasn’t expecting. And other emotions... stirred when he saw Laral kneeling, looking up at him with axepuppy eyes. He understood this feeling better than the others--he did think about her when he felt the urge--but he had no idea why she kept glancing at his pants. She wouldn't know anything about that, would she?

“I…” Kal said.

“Look,” Laral said, standing up again and climbing atop her rock. She raised the ribbon belt around her waist a little higher, and, as she pranced, arms out to her sides, Kal saw _far_ more than knees. If he'd thought her legs were long before, he was mistaken. Storms, no wonder she was only a little shorter than him. There were curves to her thighs now, especially at the top where they met her hips. When they were younger, this kind of thing would have passed by unnoticed, but now he found himself wanting to see more. He also found that her dress was billowing out in ways which almost seemed intentional. How much more had she thought about these emotions than he? Sometimes Kal thought she liked him looking at her, liked him catching glimpses. One more year, and she’d start wearing a glove on her safehand. Would he then get glimpses of that?

He got glimpses off her feet. Shoes kicked off, she went for one last walk along the thin section of rock, foot arches and toes delicately wrapping to the erratically shaped formations. She required less balancing from her arms, and moved far quicker, so her grip must be really good. Perhaps it came from the crem collecting between her toes. Kal should try it barefoot one day, though he was sure he'd end up on his back. 

Eventually, after doing a tip toed pose at the end, making sure to turn fast enough to spin her dress about her hips, she made her way back and held out a hand toward him.

“What’s that for?” Kal asked, looking at her hand.

“To help me down.”

“Laral, you’re a better climber than me or Tien. You don’t need help.”

“It’s polite, stupid,” she said, proffering her dainty hand more insistently. Kal sighed and took it, feeling oddly self-conscious while she proceeded to hop down without even leaning on him or needing his help. She, he thought, has been acting very strange lately. He went and recovered her shoes. They didn't smell at all.

She left him holding them and said, “So,” switching from axepuppy eyes to folding her arms. That puckered out her budding breasts. She followed his gaze, then folded her arms _tighter_ before continuing, “What are you going to do? If your father tries to send you to Kharbranth?”

“I don’t know,” Kal said, struggling to look up at her face. _Think about those eyes, those pretty, green eyes_. He failed, so to avoid speaking to her chest, he looked to the ground. And found that her toenails had paint the very same yellow as her dress. They looked radiant on her pale skin, eight yellow-capped soldiers with two larger yellow capped sentinels in the middle. She wiggled them all about as if happy he noticed, and he found happiness appropriate because the tips of her slender toes formed the curve of a smile.

The smile kicked his shin.

“Ow! The surgeons won’t take anyone before their sixteenth Weeping, so I’ve got time to think.” The best surgeons and healers trained in Kharbranth. Everyone knew that. The city was said to have more hospitals than taverns.

“It sounds like your father is forcing you to do what he wants, not what you want,” Laral said.

“That’s the way everyone does it,” Kal said, scratching his head. “The other boys don’t mind becoming farmers because their fathers were farmers, and Ral just became the new town carpenter. He didn’t mind that it was what his father did. Why should I mind being a surgeon?”

“I just—” Laral looked angry. “Kal, if you go to war and find a Shardblade, then you’d be a lighteyes…. I mean…Oh, this is useless.” She settled back, loosening and tightening her folded arms as if to test if something was working or not.

He hadn't been fair on her earlier. Her breasts were more than budding. The way her dress hung off them, and curved back beneath her arms, demonstrated her maturity. Did that cause pain for girls?

"Laral, are you okay?"

Her angry face turned to exasperation, and she dropped her arms. With her arms removed, he noted that her dress really did hang off her chest now rather than sit flat against her body. Huh. Either way, she was not in pain...

Kal scratched his head. She really was acting oddly. “I wouldn’t mind going to war, winning honor and all that. Mostly, I’d like to travel. See what other lands are like.” He’d heard tales of exotic animals, like enormous crustaceans or eels that sang. Of Rall Elorim, City of Shadows, or Kurth, City of Lightning.

He’d spent a lot of time studying these last few years. Kal’s mother said he should be allowed to have a childhood, rather than focusing so much on his future. Lirin argued that the tests to be admitted by the Kharbranthian surgeons were very rigorous. If Kal wanted a chance with them, he’d have to begin learning early.

And yet, to become a soldier…The other boys dreamed of joining the army, of fighting with King Gavilar. There was talk of going to war with Jah Keved, once and for all. What would it be like, to finally see some of the heroes from stories? To fight with Highprince Sadeas, or Dalinar the Blackthorn?

Tien who was playing nearby brought a flask of water, and Kal took it with a smile. After he drank, Laral waved it over.

“But…”

She took it and drank, facing the other way. Kal’s cheeks felt hot. He saw remnants of red on her cheeks when she returned the flask to Tien and sent him scampering off. She smoothed her dress nervously—lately she took far more care, not getting her clothes dirty as she once had.

“You still thinking about war?” Kal asked.

“Um. Yes. I am—”

Her eyes tracked to a group of older boys gathering at the foot of one of the hills. He recognized all of them, of course. Jost and Jest, brothers. Mord, Tift, Naget, Khav, and others. They each had solid, Alethi darkeyes names. Not like Kaladin’s own name. It was different.

“Why aren’t they worming?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Laral said. She got an odd look in her eyes as she ran them over each of the boys. “Let’s go see.” Before Kal had a chance to object, she headed barefoot down the hillside, her chest brushing his shoulder as she passed him. Storms, was there milk in there?

He scratched his head, looking toward Tien. “We’re going down to the hillside there.”

A youthful head popped up behind a boulder. Tien nodded energetically, then turned back to his searching. Kal slipped off the boulder and walked down the slope after Laral. She reached the boys, and they regarded her with lingering eyes but uncomfortable expressions. She’d never spent much time with them, not like she had with Kal. Her father and his were pretty good friends, for all that one was lighteyed and the other dark.

Laral took a perch on a nearby rock, crossed her legs, and knit her fingers over her knees. She waited, saying nothing. Kal walked up. Why had she wanted to come down here, if she wasn’t going to talk to the other boys?

“Ho, Jost,” Kal said. Senior among the boys, Jost was nearly a man—and he looked it too. His chest was broad beyond his years, his legs thick and stocky, like those of his father. He was holding a length of wood from a sapling that had been shaved into a rough approximation of a quarterstaff. “Why aren’t you worming?”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Kal knew it immediately. Several of the boys’ expressions darkened. It was a sore point to them that Kal never had to work the hills. His protests—that he spent hours upon hours memorizing muscles, bones, and cures—fell on uncaring ears. All they saw was a boy who got to spend his days in the shade while they toiled in the burning sun.

“Old Tarn found a patch of polyps that ain’t growing right,” Jost finally said, shooting a glance at Laral, scanning her head to toe. “Let us go for the day while they talked over whether to try another planting there, or just let them grow and see what comes of it.”

Kal nodded, feeling awkward as he stood before the nine boys. They were sweaty, the knees of their trousers stained with crem and patched from rubbing stone. But Kal was clean, wearing a fine pair of trousers his mother had purchased just a few weeks before. His father had sent him and Tien out for the day while he tended to something at the citylord’s manor. Kal would pay for the break with late-night studying by Stormlight, but no use explaining that to the other boys.

“So, er,” Kal said, “what were you all talking about?”

Rather than answering, Naget said, “Kal, you know things.” Light haired and spindly, he was the tallest of the bunch. “Don’t you? About the world and the like?”

“Yeah,” Kal said, scratching his head. “Sometimes.”

“You ever heard of a darkeyes becoming a lighteyes?” Naget asked.

“Sure,” Kal said. “It can happen, Father says. Wealthy darkeyed merchants marry lowborn lighteyes and join their family. Then maybe have lighteyed children. That sort of thing.”

“No, not like that,” Khav said. He had low eyebrows and always seemed to have a perpetual scowl on his face. “You know. Real darkeyes. Like us.”

Not like you, the tone seemed to imply. Kal’s family were the only one of second nahn in the town. Everyone else was fourth or fifth, and Kal’s rank made them uncomfortable around him. His father’s strange profession didn’t help either.

It all left Kal feeling distinctly out-of-place.

“You know how it can happen,” Kal said. “Ask Laral. She was just talking about it. If a man wins a Shardblade on the battlefield, his eyes become light.”

“That’s right,” Laral said. “Everybody knows it. Even a slave could become a lighteyes if he won a Shardblade.”

The boys nodded; they all had brown, black, or other dark-colored eyes. Winning a Shardblade was one of the main reasons common men went to war. In Vorin kingdoms, everyone had a chance to rise. It was, as Kal’s father would say, a fundamental tenet of their society.

“Yeah,” Naget said impatiently. “But have you ever heard of it happening? Not just in stories, I mean. Does it happen for real?”

“Sure,” Kal said. “It must. Otherwise, why would so many men go to war?”

“Because,” Jest said, “we’ve gotta prepare men to fight for the Tranquiline Halls. We’ve gotta send soldiers to the Heralds. The ardents are always talking of it.”

“In the same breaths that they tell us it’s all right to be a farmer too,” Khav said. “Like, farming’s some lonely second place or something.”

“Hey,” Tift said. “My fah’s a farmer, and he’s right good at it. It’s a noble Calling! All your fahs are farmers.”

“All right, fine,” Jost said. “But we ain’t talking of that. We’re talking of Shardbearers. You go to war, you can win a Shardblade and become a light-eyes. My fah, see, he should have been given that Shardblade. But the man who was with him, he took it while my fah was knocked out. Told the officer that he’d been the one to kill the Shardbearer, so he got the Blade, and my fah—”

He was cut off by Laral’s tinkling laughter. Kal frowned. That was a different kind of laughter than he normally heard from her, much more subdued and kind of annoying. “Jost, you’re claiming your father won a Shardblade?” she said.

“No. It was taken from him,” the larger boy said.

“Didn’t your father fight in the wastescum skirmishes up north?” Laral said. “Tell him, Kaladin.”

“She’s right, Jost. There weren’t any Shardbearers there—just Reshi raiders who thought they’d take advantage of the new king. They’ve never had any Shardblades. If your father saw one, he must be remembering incorrectly.”

“Remembering incorrectly?” Jost said.

“Er, sure,” Kal said quickly. “I’m not saying he’s lying, Jost. He just might have some trauma-induced hallucinations, or something like that.”

The boys grew silent, looking at Kal. One scratched his head.

Jost spat to the side. He seemed to be watching Laral from the corner of his eye. She pointedly looked at Kal and smiled at him.

“You always got to make a man feel like an idiot, don’t you, Kal?” Jost said.

“What? No, I—”

“You want to make my fah sound like a fool,” Jost said, face red. “And you want to make me sound stupid. Well, some of us ain’t lucky enough to spend our days eating fruit and laying about. We’ve got to work.”

“I don’t—”

Jost tossed the quarterstaff to Kal. He caught it awkwardly. Then Jost took the other staff from his brother. “You insult my fah, you get a fight. That’s honor. You have honor, lordling?”

“I’m no lordling,” Kal spat. “Stormfather, Jost, I’m only a few nahn higher than you are.”

Jost’s eyes grew angrier at the mention of nahn. He held up his quarterstaff. “You going to fight me or not?” Angerspren began to appear in small pools at his feet, bright red.

Kal knew what Jost was doing. It wasn’t uncommon for the boys to look for a way to make themselves look better than him. Kal’s father said it had to do with their insecurity. He’d have told Kal to just drop the quarterstaff and walk away.

But Laral was sitting right there, shaking the upper foot of her crossed legs like the tail of an excited axehound. The curve formed by her yellow toenails smiled at him as much as she did. It was a kick in the shin to act. To step up. Men didn’t become heroes by walking away. “All right. Sure.” Kal placed Laral's shoes at the base of her rock and held up his quarterstaff.

Jost swung immediately, more quickly than Kal had anticipated. The other boys watched with a mixture of glee, shock, and amazement. Kal barely managed to get his staff up. The lengths of wood cracked together, sending a jolt up Kal’s arms.

Kal was knocked off balance. Jost moved quickly, stepping to the side and swinging his staff down and hitting Kal in the foot. Kal cried out as a flash of agony lanced up his leg, and he released the staff with one hand and reached down.

Jost swung his staff around and hit Kal’s side. Kal gasped, letting the staff clatter to the stones and grabbing his side as he fell to his knees. He breathed out in huffing breaths, straining against the pain. Small, spindly painspren—glowing pale orange hand shapes, like stretching sinew or muscles—crawled from the stone around him.

Kal dropped one hand to the stones, leaning forward as he held his side. You’d better not have broken any of my ribs, you cremling, he thought.

To the side, Laral pursed her lips and her excited foot stilled. Kal felt a sudden, overpowering shame.

Jost lowered his staff, looking abashed. “Well,” he said. “You can see that my fah trained me right good. Maybe that will show you. The things he says are true, and—”

Kal growled in anger and pain, snatching his quarterstaff from the ground and leaping at Jost. The older boy cursed, stumbling backward as he raised his weapon. Kal bellowed, slamming his weapon forward.

Something changed in that moment. Kal felt an energy as he held the weapon, an excitement that washed away his pain. He spun, smashing the staff into one of Jost’s hands.

Jost let go with that hand, screaming. Kal brought his weapon around and slammed it into the boy’s side. Kal had never held a weapon before, never been in a fight any more dangerous than a wrestling match with Tien. But the length of wood felt right in his fingers. He was amazed by how wonderful the moment felt.

Jost grunted, stumbling again, and Kal brought his weapon back around, preparing to smash Jost’s face. He raised his staff, but then froze. Jost was bleeding from the hand Kal had hit. Just a little, but it was blood.

He’d hurt someone.

Jost growled and lurched upright. Before Kal could protest, the larger boy swept Kal’s legs from underneath him, sending him to the ground, knocking the breath from his lungs. That set afire the wound in his side, and the painspren scampered across the ground, latching on to Kal’s side, looking like an orange scar as they fed on Kal’s agony.

Jost stepped back. Kal lay on his back, breathing. He didn’t know what to feel. Holding the staff in that moment had felt wonderful. Incredible. At the same time, he could see Laral to the side. She stood up, slipped on her shoes, and, instead of kneeling to help him, turned and walked away, toward her father’s mansion.

Tears welled in Kal’s eyes.

“Ha,” Jost said. “She abandoned you. Always knew she was crem.”

“A real Brightbitch,” Naget said. "One day she'll get what's coming to her."

The others barked laughs, but with a shout, Kal rolled over and grabbed the quarterstaff again. They would not talk about her like that, he would not give in!

“None of that now,” Jost said from behind. Kal felt something hard on his back, a boot shoving him down to the stone. Jest took the staff from Kal’s fingers.

I failed. I…lost. He hated the feeling, hated it far more than the pain.

“You did well,” Jost said grudgingly. “But leave off. I don’t want to have to hurt you for real.”


	6. Brightbitch (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laral returns home after abandoning Kal, riddled with guilt, and those she offended seek to make her pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chapter grew quite large after edits so thought I'd section the scenes off as separate Chapters. Not much has changed storywise, but I'd recommend rereading Part 1. This story doubled in size since the initial publication.

Laral pulled her dress off over her shoulders and threw it at her bed. Her shift went next, and then she kicked off her shoes. She stubbed her pinky toe in her haste, chipping her nail paint, but she ignored it. It was a little pain, nothing compared to getting a beating. The way he must have looked at her as she walked away... she felt it like acid on her skin. She had to wash it off. As she tied her hair up, she eyed her chest and thighs in the mirror. She thought for sure they'd be sufficient by now. It wasn't, even though she'd shaved every visible inch and worn her brightest, shortest dress. She blushed just thinking about how she had raised her belt, leaving her dress to the whims of the winds up to her _waist_. Storms she was seeing more red in the mirror than not. Had he not liked what he'd seen? She pushed her breasts together and eyed them from either side. They didn't make any creases in her skin yet, but they noticeably stuck out from her body, even when she let them down. There wasn't enough to bounce, but it did ripple a bit. Compared to most girls in the village, she was practically a woman. But was still not enough.

Hair in a loose bun, she grabbed a towel and strode to her bathing room. The damp floors were icy on her barefeet. It was chilly, but she didn't feel deserving of warmth. She didn't need to wrap herself up either, only her hand maids tended to her rooms. Dridal, a plump woman, was still busy pouring warm water into the large stone tub. Laral should have known the process would take longer with only one maid in today. She turned on her heel to leave.

"Brightness!" Dridal said, out of breath. "Come, come. Your bath is ready." She heaved a final pale and came over, taking Laral's towel and folding it neatly at the head of the bath. She came over and tucked a few stray strands of hair into Laral's bun.

She was a darling. It was why Laral stole away so many desserts and pastries for her.

"Oh you look so cold, dear." Dridal rubbed Laral's arms. Her warmth almost made Laral smile. "Get in, get in--oh, careful not to slip!"

Laral caught her footing on the smooth stone inside the tub and sat, thanking Dridal as normally as she could manage.

"I've just got to run to pass a message to your father," Dridal said. "Call to the guards if you need anything, and they'll fetch me right away."

"Father's guards are with him at his meeting."

"Oh my, what do I do? I couldn't abandon his message or leave you alone at home."

"Do not worry. I think I need to be alone anyway."

"Are you sure, Brightness? What if you--"

"If I drown? I'm not a child anymore, Dridal. Be on with your business. I'll tend myself for the rest of the night."

Dridal knew when to mother and when to step back. Bless her. She left, only adding, "I left your favourite Highprincess Party foam soap next to the coarse beauty one you requested."

Laral blushed. Well, there was only so much mothering one could stop. Though she appreciated the gesture, she closed her eyes and sank till her ears fell below water level. She still couldn’t drown out the word, “Brightbitch” from playing in her head.

What was she supposed to do? She wanted the best for Kal, and there was only so much a girl could do to motivate. She lifted her left hand—not yet regarded as a safehand—from the water and looked it over. Soon, she’d need to hide it in public, but she was already learning how a woman wielded power. Her back was a far more powerful tool than her words. Kal was too hardheaded for words. Storms, he was too hardheaded for breasts and thighs! And she sure as damnation didn't have the strength to toss him into the army with her own hands.

What if he really came back with a Shardblade? He would be of the fourth dahn! They could marry and he’d become Citylord of Hearthstone. They could have five kids. Or six, even! Storms, after he and all those kids had their way with her body, what would she look like? Would Kal still look at her with that same captivated expression? Somehow, she knew he would.

And she'd left that person there, on the floor, in pain… Her hand plopped back under the water and she sank down in shame. Still, she rubbed her belly. _Six kids, Laral? You've always been a greedy girl._

“Is it so wrong to want happiness?”

“We’ll make you very happy, Brightbitch,” a voice said, behind her.

Laral gasped and turned so fast, her hair came undone. The boys from earlier stood over her. All of them, except Kal. Their eyes raked her, their sight like a physical thing scraping across her naked skin.

She threw her arm over her chest and hunkered down in the water, trying to cover herself, though she knew it to be futile. She could not hide her whole body, and neither could she scream. She was alone in the house anyway. She wanted to demand what kind of prank this was, but her chest pulsed with panic and her voice could not pass the knot in her throat.

She abandoned propriety, grabbed the rim of the bath, and tried to run.

She never even got both feet out. They pounced on her, dozens of too-eager hands. They upended her legs, pulled her hair, and shoved her chest, sending her hurtling backwards into the bath. She heard their laughs as she resurfaced, only to have her head shoved below the water surface.

She was wrong. Her bath did change colour. It was becoming yellow. When they grabbed her hair and yanked her head out of the water, they pointed at the dense golden tint around her hips, laughed harder, and shoved her face into it. Her gag caused her to swallow and inhale it.

“You—” she squeaked, choking, as they yanked her up.

"Highprincess Party foam soap? What are you, ten?" One of them back handed it to the floor. "We wouldn't want to make the water murky."

Red with both fluster and fury, she said, “You’ll… die for this. If you kill me.”

“Oh, we’re not going to kill you, Brightpiss,” Jost said, running his hand around her face, fingers dragging her lower lip down. “Oh you're so pretty with that groomed hair and skin, painted toes and lighteyes. Yes, scowl at me. I like that look on you even more." He stuck his thumb into her mouth and tugged her cheek. "This mouth had a lot to say about my father." She groaned as he yanked her face to the side. "While he might not have a Shardblade, he did pass a blade on to me. All nine of our fathers did. You want to see those blades?”

“What…?” She trailed off as his implication set in. This wasn’t an embarrassing revenge prank. This wasn’t a murder. Her tutors had taught her all kinds of things this last year. That brought her eyes down to their trousers, and a spike of horror passed through her as she noted the bulges.

“No…” she muttered. "Please. No--Don't touch me there!"

Hands that had aggressively grabbed her hair and head now grabbed at the rest of her. All the parts she'd saved for someone else's eyes, for someone else's hands. She struggled in the water, flailing in futility. She got a knee to her stomach for her efforts, and was finally able to scream. It was muffled by callused hands, but she screamed anyway, not for her father who was out arranging for recruiters to come to Hearthstone, but for Kal who she wished was recruited.

She grew light in the head as obscene things tried to force their way into her from all sides. They pushed at her, and pushed. Someone's filthy thing wriggled like a snake between her lips—ew ew EW _EW!_ it was leaking something rancid and she could already taste it—but try as she might, it forced its way into her mouth. It tasted twice as bad on her tongue, and trying to move her tongue out of the way only made her taste more, only made it bulge and twitch. The boy grabbed the hair at her temples in fistfuls and pulled her into his thrust. She closed her eyes as her nose came close to his hairy crotch.

"Woah!" he said. "I never thought a girl's mouth could feel so good. It's like if my hand was warm and soft and wet and pretty.

She felt him grow harder with his words and he began to thrust. She'd thought he was going to pull out, done, but he stopped with his pulsing, leaking, tip right between her lips and pushed in again. She resisted, and he yanked her hair, bringing her neck and his hips into a pumping motion.

"You've always been a wanker," Jost said, as two others wrapped her fingers around their lengths, one screaming, "I got the safehand!" They, too, began a pumping motion, like slithering cremlings crawling into and out of the tubes they made with her hands.

"Storms you were right," one told the boy in her mouth. "Her hand is so much softer and _prettier_ than mine."

They spoke of her as of she wasn't even there. As if she were an object, an unobtainable prize that they'd stolen away, and were going to destroy because they couldn't have it. They seemed to enjoy it, too, for their lengths grew and hardened when they spoke such vulgarities in her presence, and about her nonetheless.

"Wistio's daughter!" Someone sucking her nipples said. "He always thought he was so nice, while talking down to us. Well, his storming daughter's tits are in my mouth! How nice they are."

He ran his nose from her chest up to the crook of her arms and inhaled. "Oh, the princess sweats. Such a sweet sweet scent." Disgusting.

He licked it, and she shivered. "Delicious, too!" Others got a taste of her armpits as he pressed his lips to her breast, _sucked_ her nipple into his mouth, and circled it, slobbering it up with his gross wet tongue. Then bit her.

She cried out. It wasn't a nibble. She felt the pinch like a surgeon's needles in her skin. The boy, surprised, leaned back with blood on his lips. It came from two bite marks in her areola. A bead of red formed, and she winced as he sucked and licked that.

She wanted to bite and break off the lengths in her mouth and hands, but this was living flesh and the thought of doing so frightened her, repulsed her more than this violation. She was so weak. And she'd turned her back to someone else who'd flinched before hurting another.

The next violation was in a body part that couldn't fight back. Something was so close to breaching her rear down below. Her anus resisted, burning as it stretched. It was too small for the older boys.

They grabbed her coarse beauty soap and roughly lathered her crotch, then slid back between her cheeks making her body make sloppy sounds as if she was passing air. She squirmed. Nothing felt more awkward than having someone's hands rub in there. It was dirty. Couldn't they at least let a girl keep that dignity?

No, they couldn't. They all took turns, as if they were washing her. Others spanked her. "Look how it jiggles!" they said, as if 'it' wasn't a person, but meat. _Spank._ "Move, I can do it harder than you!" another said. SPANK! "No," said another, "fah said a spanking only counts when the marks last days"-- _SPANKK!--_ "see how my handprint is flaring on her bottom?"

"Ohh, yeah." Several of them gathered behind her. How could they shame a girl so? "I want to try again--"

"Stop wasting time," one said. Rough though they were on her, the soap was too rough for their own privates, so that one scooped lather from her crack--she shivered as his finger ran from down, all the way up--and laced his length. Then he split her cheeks and pressed his head to her prepared anus, and pushed. She grit her teeth, but he still couldn't fit.

He laced his finger and stuck it up her bum.

Her lips parted in a silent scream. Nothing was supposed to go in there! Squirming only invited him further in, and her scream increased twofold when a second finger entered her. And a third. Her body shook, but he roamed all around as if he owned her.

He suddenly pulled out, only to replace his fingers with something that made her shake her head side to side so hard, tears flew out. They did not heed her pleas. He just forced his way in, _breeching_ her with a pop, then little by little, making room for himself where there was none. They could disagree on whether Lighteyes deserved the land they had, but the space in her was _hers_. Indisputably. They were Trespassing. Breaking and entering. If they could violate this most sacred space, she could never feel safe in her own skin. Violate they could. She felt full, like she needed to go, like if she squeezed just a little more, the pain would disappear. It didn't. It throbbed each time she clenched, and the pain got worse, worse still when he pulled out and thrust into her again harder— _ow please get out of me_ —reaching deeper and deeper.

"Laral Wistiow," Jost said. "Sodomised in her own bath. What a slut."

"You feel so good inside," the boy in the rear whispered in her ear.

She shivered.

"Keep tensing around me—yes, just like that. Good girl."

Her anus, held agape by the intrusion, kept trying to close, and seemed to be pleasuring that intrusion more. It was one of the most unsettling feelings she'd ever had. What if it never closed again? She'd have to live in a toilet. How would she be a wife, then? She began to thrash--

And got slapped so hard, she saw starspren. They turned her around so she lay on the chest of whoever was in her rear end. He could go in easily enough to thrust at a rhythm now, but the pain was still fire. She felt blood ooze from her nipple, down the side of her rib cage, where it met the water. A boy stood above her head and forced his way into her mouth. He tasted different from the first, and was bigger. She could only see beyond him in his upstrokes, but she felt her legs raised and spread. Whatever they did to her rear, it did not make her feel as vulnerable as having her feet turned to the roof and legs opened for a group of boys to feast their eyes on her most private place.

Struggling to bring her knees together earned her several solid slaps to her girlhood. Their farmer hands were so _hard_ it felt like punches. They took turns hitting her, even after she stopped struggling, and took their time drinking in the sight of her skin flaring a bright pink from the impacts.

"Hey look, even her pubes have blonde strands mixed into the black!"

"You're right," Jost said, grabbing the bunch of hair. His fingers sunk through knots, nails scraping her skin beneath, and then he twisted. Thick strand after thick strand plucked out of her flesh from the roots. She screamed. He was going to rip her vagina out!

He let go. But she never got a breather. Her nipples were twisted. Her breasts were groped. Her hands were violated. Her mouth was drilled. Her feet were licked. Her toes were sucked. Her anus was stretched. Her bottom was spanked.

Her clitoris was pinched.

A sound like a kicked axepup escaped her throat, and she couldn't help but start waling loudly, out of screams, out of fight. Why her? Had the Almighty deemed her actions today so heinous?

Jost twisted his already immense grip on her bud, looking at her like she deserved what she got. To his pinch and twist, he added a pull, and her vision flashed white momentarily from the pain. With her most delicate parts in his hands, Jost might as well be her Almighty.

"Was..." she mumbled as she cried, "turn-ing my back... the one line a wife... should not cross, even for her partner's... own sake?" 

"Huh? She's losing it. Let's do this before the lighteyed cockslut is completely gone."

Finally, Jost let go of her clit. The screaming pain persisted. He made two others clutch her thighs, and he stationed himself between them.

She told her body not to struggle, but it did anyway and Jost planted an actual punch into her belly. She would have spat, winded, if not for the penis in her mouth. Instead, it came out as a gargle, opening up her throat, and suddenly he was clutching her head like a ball and relentlessly driving into it. Her spit was flying everywhere, even dripping into her eyes. He bucked, and the taste of rain soaked carpets filled her mouth. It came when something thick and warm spilled around her teeth. Her eyes widened. What on Roshar! She struggled and choked, earning her another punch that sent the boy all the way into her face, nose to hairy, smelly sac. 

The punch also made her bottom out on the thing below. It excited the boy down there so much, he clutched her by the hips, nails clawing her skin, and thrust so hard he was slapping against her ass. Ripples of the impact travelled throughout her body, shaking and stirring up pain in things which had quieted.

The boy pulled out of her mouth and the first one took his place, giving her no time to spit. "Punch her, punch her!"

Jost did, and she couldn't help but swallow and try to curl up, sending the boy into her throat. Her choking excited him so much that he stormed her face with a ferver he didn't have before. She tried not to make any sounds, but his force created an Ak! An Urg urg urg ugh!

Her belly was twitching. It was a blue purple mess. The pain was immense, across her body, especially her anus. The boy in there increased ferver, too, and said, "Keep her making those sounds! Oh how her ass clenches when she moans!"

"You got it!" Glurg GLUK, clock-ig CLOG-ik! "Her eyes are gone so red!" he said, but that didn't stop him from humping her. _Clock_ —cough— _Glock!_ Gargle-a-largle.

Her suffering sounds invigorated the one rear ending her. As she choked on a mass and her own spit, the boy in her bottom thrust harder, forcing moans out of her as he bucked, wrapping his arms around her, fingers clutching and clawing at her chest and sore tummy. He thrust slowly now, like one, pause. Two, pause. Three. She could hear muffled whizzing sounds internally, as if he were peeing in her. But she knew it was something else he left in her body. She felt its warmth. He gave her one last thrust and gave his position below her to another of the nine boys. They moved her like a sac of meat and all retook their positions. This was never going to end. It was going to go in till they'd had their fill, her well being be damned. She was already hurting so so much.

And it was only going to get worse when Jost made it in and stole her virginity.

"My turn." He was pushing fervently against her hymen, more so each time his friend thrust her upward. She winced each time, and he smirked each time. He was playing with her.

Didn't change the fact that he was a liar whose father never earned a Shardblade. She could only hope that she wouldn't get pregnant with his seed. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of struggling, so she stifled her crying into sniffles and relaxed her legs as much as possible. The boys on the side didn't notice, still clutching her thighs like they were trying to rip her legs right off.

But Jost noticed. So he took her by the waist and leaned into her. She groaned. He was struggling to _fit_ , and clearly didn't want to break her with his finger. He dropped his weight into her and used it to push, but he was several years older than her, and it was taking some negotiating to get in enough to break her hymen. Slowly though, she could feel it and couldn't help but wince. She was about to tear.

She was about to lose her virginity.

With that pain, the second disgusting thing in her mouth, and the penis in her bottom sandwiching her, she couldn't suppress the vertigo-like feeling from taking her. So when she heard glass shatter, she only vaguely saw a tan boy storm in and swing a plank like it was a Shardblade. Hands let go of her one after the other, and boys fell into the water. She did, too. Through the blur she saw a bright wisp of blue dance around the one with the plank, and she could all but stare, mesmerised as her air ran out and he was the last one standing.

He fished her out of the water and checked her over for wounds as if she wasn’t as naked as the day she was born. He applied pressure to her bleeding nipple as if it wasn't some treasured body part of the citylord's daughter to violate, but a part of a precious human to be cared for.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a voice that sounded so familiar. “I followed them, but they jammed all the doors—Laral? Laral, stay with me!”

He laid her on the ground and started attacking her chest. _I’m not breathing_ , she realised.

Her vision dazed as he compressed her chest again and again. If she was going to die, she had to at least see who her saviour was. Who her soldier was.

Deep, smoldering, tearing brown eyes was looking down at her. Kal. He pinched her nose, opened her mouth, and kissed her.

Laral, the Brightbitch, did not deserve his first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you feel about the way Laral treated Kal?
> 
> You can use a nonsense email like sdfaasd@dsasdfs.com to comment anonymously. You can actually just copy that text XD


	7. I'm All Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan returns to her chambers so tired, she goes straight to sleep. But Adolin's got that feeling, so she has to get creative

Radiant dragged the Three to the bath before bed, as was proper. Only when done, did she step back.

Veil yawned, and threw off the towel Radiant so primly wrapped around herself. She had a bust of note, but Veil and Shallan had a little less to hide.

This was their chambers anyway. What were they afraid of? Adolin showing up?

I don't want my husband exposed to you two, Shallan said, taking over. Her hair bled from black to red and she collapsed without collecting it out from under her.

She hadn't been this tired since the chasms and Shadesmar last year. If Dalinar asked any more of her, she'd not make it through another day.

Always so dramatic, Radiant scoffed. We do an honorable work.

Shallan rolled her eyes and turned to her side. Her sketchbook was on her bedside table, so she scratched into it a large glyph.

"Retreat."

Adolin would be able to read the military glyph, and would take it as an apology for going to sleep without him. She was so tired.

Yawning, she covered the diamond marks providing illumination and slipped under the covers.

Storms her pillow was the softest thing in Roshar.

"Storms," rang Adolin's voice as a hand ran down her leg. "You're the softest thing on Roshar."

He was the sweetest thing, but his timing was awful and his phrasing often begged for a ripping.

"Are you saying I'm fat, Highprince Adolin Kholin?"

He grinned and got into bed beside her. She turned to face him, tucking her arms and head into her pillow, but Adolin had other plans.

He lightly traced his fingers from her shoulder down her arm.

Oh not now, Radiant thought.

Ha! Veil said. You are tired!

Of course she is, Shallan said. Bother. It was too dark to see, but she knew Adolin was hard as crem under those sheets.

He wasn't simply affectively stroking her arm. He did it in that light way that gave her goosebumps and made her tingle. But she didn't tingle today. Her eyelids were too heavy, and his warm fingers lulled her to--

He scooted closer and she felt him on her thigh. And he smelled so good after a shower.

Ah! She wanted to yell into her pillow like a little girl. Why did Dalinar send her on hunt after hunt? Didn't he know his son needed some love at the end of the day? Didn't he know she did? She was a married woman. She had needs.

"Darling," Shallan said.

"No, it's all right." Adolin pulled back. "You must be exhausted. Stormfather knows I am, too."

The disappointment in his voice broke her heart. This was a way for him to destress, unwind, but for her... Well, she liked to take her time, and by the end, she was usually putting everything she had into it.

She had nothing in her.

Another yawn escaped her as she spoke, "If you're willing to cross a line... Radiant didn't seem as tired as--"

"No," Adolin said simultaneously as Radiant thought, That is improper, and I am... tired.

There was only one thing to do.

Shallan reached below and took a long heat into her hand. It wasn't as thick as the maximum girths she'd read in her studies, but three hands would be needed to cover it.

"Shallan," he said. "You don't have to."

The disappointment had left his hardness in an uncertain limbo, but the fingers of her safehand sliding down to his base and back changed that.

"Mmm," he said as she worked his head with her thumb. "But where's my release going to go if you give me a safejob?"

"I'm not giving you a safejob, gemheart."

He looked confused at this. Rightfully so, since she was doing just that, slowly pumping him, all the way down till her knuckles brushed his spheres and muscular thighs. Oh how she wanted to sit on them. But, despite the fact that she had the hard staff of Kholinar's Highprince in her hand, her eyes were still drooping.

"If you want to call it something--Storms Shallan you're so good with your hands--something else, fine, but my seed--"

"I will take care of your seed."

She let go of him then, confusing him more. She turned onto her belly, grabbed his pillow, and used it to prop up her hips, raising her bottom into the air.

Clever, Radiant said.

Just tell him not to shake the bed, Veil added, yawning.

"Take it easy on me, love. I've had a long day and will likely fall asleep, but I'm all yours. Do with me as you wish."

"Shallan," Adolin said, excitement clear in his reluctant voice. So transparent, her highprince was. She'd have to work on that with him. "Are you sure?"

"Oh fuck me, Adolin Kholin. Goodnight."

She tucked her head into her pillow and closed her eyes, trying not to be self conscious about her bare bottom.

Adolin opened her cheeks, saying no more. He was a gentleman otherwise, but a beast in bed. Veil had given warning for a reason.

Shallan didn't relay it. She would enjoy his service on her way to slumber.

Cheeks spread apart like that, she felt Urithiru's chill air on her anus and it tightened. But Adolin's heat laid against it, and she felt like she'd taken a dip into a warm bath. Slowly, his weight came upon her, and she opened up. She purred as his head expanded her, and then got sucked in with a pop. That was when he purred. The rest of him followed and she began to fill up. He really was quite long. She'd not been too enthusiastic about this Alethi rear ending the first time, but from the moment she'd had him snake all the way into her, she'd been hooked. There was just so much to titillate back there. And with his measurements, his seed would not escape her tonight. She'd keep it in, safe and warm.

Storms, she was getting wet and he'd barely even started thrusting. His thumbs gently massaged her buttocks, bottom to top, and she could feel his pent up drive in the way he stroked and squeezed, stroked and squeezed. He usually had a vice grip, and most nights, she experienced it first hand. She had encouraged it, in fact. But tonight his squeezes only got tight enough to send pulses of sweet, releasing sensations through her body. None that made her bite her sheets and regret that she asked for more. He was holding back, and she let him. She wouldn't want Veil coming out to set things straight while Adolin's member was embedded in her ass.

Veil was practically asleep though. Radiant, too. Shallan, too...

Adolin's hips met her cheeks with a gentle slap, their forms melding to one another, firm and soft, like a special kiss goodnight.

She drifted, and heard him whisper, "Goodnight," as he began to give her special goodnight kisses faster and faster till he reached a rhythm that lulled a purring Shallan into a deep sleep where she had an infinite amount of time to have her way with the Adolin she found in her dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for the commenter who so earnestly wanted more Shallan. I couldn't resist. But this will be the last request I'll be taking. Lol. I need some storming self control.


	8. No More Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan negotiates with creditors for her brother back. She has no idea what price she will have to pay

“These are really good, Shallan,” Balat said, leafing through pages of her sketches. The two of them sat in the gardens, accompanied by Wikim, who sat on the ground tossing a cloth-wrapped ball for his axehound Sakisa to catch.

“My anatomy is off,” Shallan said with a blush. “I can’t get the proportions right.” She needed models to pose for her so she could work on that.

“You’re better than Mother ever was,” Balat said, flipping to another page, where she had sketched Balat on the sparring grounds with his swordsmanship tutor. He tipped it toward Wikim, who raised an eyebrow.

Her middle brother was looking better and better these last four months. Less scrawny, more solid. He almost constantly had mathematical problems with him. Father had once railed at him for that, claiming it was feminine and unseemly—but, in a rare show of dissension, Father’s ardents had approached him and told him to calm himself, and that the Almighty approved of Wikim’s interest. They hoped Wikim might find his way into their ranks.

“I heard that you got another letter from Eylita,” Shallan said, trying to distract Balat from the sketchbook. She couldn’t keep herself from blushing as he turned page after page. Those weren’t meant for others to look at. They weren’t any good.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning.

“You going to have Shallan read it to you?” Wikim asked, throwing the ball.

Balat coughed. “I had Malise do it. Shallan was busy.”

“You’re embarrassed!” Wikim said, pointing. “What is in those letters?”

“Things my fourteen-year-old sister doesn’t need to know about!” Balat said.

“That racy, eh?” Wikim asked. “I wouldn’t have figured that for the Tavinar girl. She seems too proper.”

“No!” Balat blushed further. “They aren’t racy; they are merely private.”

“Private like your—”

“Wikim,” Shallan cut in.

He looked up, and then noticed that angerspren were pooling underneath Balat’s feet. “Storms, Balat. You are getting so touchy about that girl.”

“Love makes us all fools,” Shallan said, distracting the two.

“Love?” Balat asked, glancing at her. “Shallan, you’re barely old enough to pin up your safehand. What do you know about love?”

She blushed. “I… never mind.”

“Oh, look at that,” Wikim said. “She’s thought up something clever. You’re going to have to say it now, Shallan.”

“No use keeping something like that inside,” Balat agreed.

“Ministara says I speak my mind too much. That it’s not a feminine attribute.”

Wikim laughed. “That hasn’t seemed to stop any women I’ve known.”

“Yeah, Shallan,” Balat said. “If you can’t say the things you think of to us, then who can you say them to?”

“Trees,” she said, “rocks, shrubs. Basically anything that can’t get me in trouble with my tutors.”

“You don’t have to worry about Balat, then,” Wikim said. “He couldn’t manage something clever even in repetition.”

“Hey!” Balat said. Though, unfortunately, it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Love,” Shallan said, though partially just to distract them, “is like a pile of chull dung.”

“Smelly?” Balat asked.

“No,” Shallan said, “for even as we try to avoid both, we end up stepping in them anyway.”

“Deep words for a girl who hit her teens precisely fifteen months ago,” Wikim said with a chuckle.

“Love is like the sun,” Balat said, sighing.

“Blinding?” Shallan asked. “White, warm, powerful—but also capable of burning you?”

“Perhaps,” Balat said, nodding.

“Love is like a Herdazian surgeon,” Wikim said, looking at her.

“And how is that?” Shallan asked.

“You tell me,” Wikim said. “I’m seeing what you can make of it.”

“Um… Both leave you uncomfortable?” Shallan said. “No. Ooh! The only reason you’d want one was if you’d taken a sharp blow to the head!”

“Ha! Love is like spoiled food.”

“Necessary for life on one hand,” Shallan said, “but also expressly nauseating.”

“Father’s snoring.”

She shuddered. “You have to experience it to believe just how distracting it can be.”

Wikim chuckled. Storms, but it was good to see him doing that.

“Stop it, you two,” Balat said. “That kind of talk is disrespectful. Love… love is like a classical melody.”

Shallan grinned. “If you end your performance too quickly, your audience is disappointed?”

“Shallan!” Balat said.

Wikim, however, was rolling on the ground. After a moment, Balat shook his head, and gave an agreeable chuckle. For her own part, Shallan was blushing. Did I really just say that? That last one had actually been somewhat witty, far better than the others. It had also been improper.

She got a guilty thrill from it. Balat looked embarrassed, and he blushed at the double meaning, collecting shamespren. Sturdy Balat. He wanted so much to lead them. So far as she knew, he’d given up his habit of killing cremlings for fun. Being in love strengthened him, changed him.

The sound of wheels on stone announced a carriage arriving at the house. No hoofbeats—father owned horses, but few other people in the area did. Their carriages were pulled by chulls or parshmen.

Balat rose to go see who had come, and Sakisa followed after, trumping in excitement. Shallan picked up her sketchpad. Father had recently forbidden her from drawing the manor’s parshmen or darkeyes—he found it unseemly. That made it hard for her to find practice figures.

“Shallan?”

She started, realizing that Wikim hadn’t followed Balat. “Yes.”

“I was wrong,” Wikim said, handing her something. A small pouch. “About what you’re doing. I see through it. And… and still it’s working. Damnation, but it’s working. Thank you.”

She moved to open the pouch he’d given her.

“Don’t,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Blackbane,” Wikim said. “A plant, the leaves at least. If you eat them, they paralyze you. Your breathing stops too.”

Disturbed, she pulled the top tight. She didn’t even want to know how Wikim could recognize a deadly plant like this.

“I’ve carried those for the better part of a year,” Wikim said softly. “The longer you have them, the more potent the leaves are supposed to become. I don’t feel like I need them any longer. You can burn them, or whatever. I just thought you should have them.”

She smiled, though she felt unsettled. Wikim had been carrying this poison around? He felt he needed to give it to her?

He jogged after Balat, and Shallan stuffed the pouch in her satchel. She’d find a way to destroy it later. She picked up her pencils and went back to drawing.

Shouting from inside the manor distracted her a short time later. She looked up, uncertain even how much time had passed. She rose, satchel clutched to her chest, and crossed the yard. Vines shook and withdrew before her, though as her pace sped up, she stepped on more and more of them, feeling them writhe beneath her feet and try to yank back. Cultivated vines had poor instincts.

She reached the house to more shouting.

“Father!” Asha Jushu’s voice. “Father, please!”

Shallan pushed open the slatted wood doors, silk dress rustling against the floor as she stepped in and found three men in old-style clothing—skirtlike ulatu to their knees, bright loose shirts, flimsy coats that draped to the ground—standing before Father.

Jushu knelt on the floor, hands bound behind his back. Over the years, Jushu had grown plump from his periods of excess.

“Bah,” Father said. “I will not suffer this extortion.”

“His credit is your credit, Brightlord,” one of the men said in a calm, smooth voice. He was darkeyed, though he didn’t sound it. “He promised us you would pay his debts.”

“He lied,” Father said, Ekel and Jix—house guards—at his sides, hands on weapons.

“Father,” Jushu whispered through his tears. “They’ll take me—”

“You were supposed to be riding our outer holdings!” Father bellowed. “You were supposed to be checking on our lands, not dining with thieves and gambling away our wealth and our good name!”

Jushu hung his head, sagging in his bonds.

“He’s yours,” Father said, turning and storming from the chamber.

Shallan gasped as one of the men sighed, then gestured toward Jushu. The other two grabbed him. They didn’t seem pleased to be leaving without payment. Jushu trembled as they towed him away, past Balat and Wikim, who watched nearby. Outside, Jushu cried for mercy and begged the men to let him speak to Father again.

“Balat,” Shallan said, walking to him, taking his arm. “Do something!”

“We all knew where the gambling would take him,” Balat said. “We told him, Shallan. He wouldn’t listen.”

“He’s still our brother!”

“What do you expect me to do? Where would I get spheres enough to pay his debt?”

Jushu’s weeping grew softer as the men left the manor.

Shallan turned and dashed after her father, passing Jix scratching his head. Father had gone into his study two rooms over; she hesitated in the doorway, looking in at her father slumped in his chair beside the hearth. She stepped in, passing the desk where his ardents—and sometimes his wife—tallied his ledgers and read him reports.

Nobody stood there now, but the ledgers were open, displaying a brutal truth. She raised a hand to her mouth, noticing several letters of debt. She’d helped with minor accounts, but never seen so much of the full picture, and was stunned by what she saw. How could the family owe that much money?

“I’m not going to change my mind, Shallan,” Father said. “Leave. Jushu prepared this pyre himself.”

“But—”

“Leave me!” Father roared, standing.

Shallan cringed back, eyes widening, heart nearly stopping. Fearspren wriggled up around her. He never yelled at her. Never.

Father took a deep breath, then turned to the room’s window. His back to her, he continued, “I can’t afford the spheres.”

“Why?” Shallan asked. “Father, is this because of the deal with Brightlord Revilar?” She looked at the ledgers. “No, it’s bigger than that.”

“I will finally make something of myself,” Father said, “and of this house. I will stop them from whispering about us; I will end the questioning. House Davar will become a force in this princedom.”

“By bribing favor from supposed allies?” Shallan asked. “Using money we don’t have?”

He looked at her, face shadowed but eyes reflecting light, like twin embers in the dark of his skull. In that moment, Shallan felt a terrifying hatred from her father. He strode over, grabbing her by the arms. Her satchel dropped to the floor.

“I’ve done this for you,” he growled, holding her arms in a tight, painful grip. “And you will obey. I’ve gone wrong, somewhere, in letting you learn to question me.”

She whimpered at the pain.

“There will be changes in this house,” Father said. “No more weakness. I’ve found a way…”

“Please, stop.”

He looked down at her and seemed to see the tears in her eyes for the first time.

“Father…” she whispered.

He looked upward. Toward his rooms. She knew he was looking toward Mother’s soul. He dropped her then, causing her to tumble to the floor, red hair covering her face.

“You are confined to your rooms,” he snapped. “Go, and do not leave until I give you permission.”

Shallan scrambled to her feet, snatching her satchel, then left the room. In the hallway, she pressed her back against the wall, panting raggedly, tears dripping from her chin. Things had been going better… her father had been better…

She squeezed her eyes shut. Emotion stormed inside of her, twisting about. She couldn’t control it.

Jushu.

Father actually looked like he wanted to hurt me, Shallan thought, shivering. He’s changed so much. She started to sink

Father actually looked like he wanted to hurt me, Shallan thought, shivering. He’s changed so much. She started to sink down toward the floor, arms wrapped around herself.

Jushu.

Keep cutting at those thorns, strong one… Make a path for the light…

Shallan forced herself to her feet. She ran, still crying, back into the feast hall. Balat and Wikim had taken seats, Minara quietly serving them drinks. The guards had left, perhaps to their post at the manor grounds.

When Balat saw Shallan, he stood, eyes widening. He rushed to her, knocking over his cup in his haste, spilling wine to the floor.

“Did he hurt you?” Balat asked. “Damnation! I’ll kill him! I’ll go to the highprince and—”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Shallan said. “Please. Balat, your knife. The one Father gave you.”

He looked to his belt. “What of it?”

“It’s worth good money. I’m going to try to trade it for Jushu.”

Balat lowered his hand protectively to the knife. “Jushu built his pyre himself, Shallan.”

“That’s exactly what Father said to me,” Shallan replied, wiping her eyes, then meeting those of her brother.

“I…” Balat looked over his shoulder in the direction Jushu had been taken. He sighed, then unhooked the sheath from his belt and handed it to her. “It won’t be enough. They say he owes almost a hundred emerald broams.”

“I have my necklace too,” Shallan said.

Wikim, silently drinking his wine, reached to his belt and took off his knife. He set it at the edge of the table. Shallan scooped it up as she passed, then ran from the room. Could she catch the men in time?

Outside, she spotted the carriage only a short way down the road. She hurried as best she could on slippered feet down the cobbled drive and out the gates onto the road. She wasn’t fast, but neither were chulls. As she drew closer, she saw that Jushu had been tied to walk behind the carriage. He didn’t look up as Shallan passed him.

The carriage stopped, and Jushu dropped to the ground and curled up. The darkeyed man with the haughty air pushed open his door to look at Shallan. “He sent the child?”

“I came on my own,” she said, holding up the daggers. “Please, they are very fine work.”

The man raised an eyebrow, then gestured for one of his companions to step down and fetch them. Shallan unhooked her necklace and dropped it into the man’s hands with the two knives. The man took out one of the knives, inspecting it as Shallan waited, apprehensive, shifting from foot to foot.

“You’ve been weeping,” said the man in the carriage. “You care for him that much?”

“He is my brother.”

“So?” the man asked. “I killed my brother when he tried to cheat me. You shouldn’t let relations cloud your eyes.”

“I love him,” Shallan whispered.

The man looking over the daggers slid them both back in their sheaths. “They are masterworks,” he admitted. “I’d value them at twenty emerald broams.”

“The necklace?” Shallan asked.

“Simple, but of aluminum, which can only be made by Soulcasting,” the man said to his boss. “Ten emerald.”

“Together half what your brother owes,” said the man in the carriage.

Shallan’s heart sank. “But… what would you do with him? Selling him as a slave cannot redeem so great a debt.”

“I’m often in the mood to remind myself that lighteyes bleed the same as darkeyes,” the man said. “And sometimes it is useful to have a deterrent for others, a way to remind them not to take loans they cannot repay. He may save me more than he cost, if I display him prudently.”

Shallan felt small. She clasped her hands, one covered, one not. Had she lost, then? The women from Father’s books, the women she was coming to admire, would not have made pleas to win this man’s heart. They would have tried logic.

She wasn’t good at that. She didn’t have the training for it, and she certainly didn’t currently have the temperament. But as the tears began again, she forced out the first thing that came to mind.

“He may save you money that way,” Shallan said. “But he may not. It is a gamble, and you do not strike me as the kind of man who gambles.”

The man laughed. “What makes you say that? Gambling is what brought me here!”

“No,” she said, blushing at her tears. “You are the type of man who profits from the gambling of others. You know that it usually leads to loss. I give you items of real value. Take them. Please?”

The man considered. He held out his hands for the daggers, and his man passed them over. He unsheathed one of the daggers and inspected it. “Name for me one reason I should show this man pity. In my house, he was an arrogant glutton, acting without thought for the difficulty he would cause you, his family.”

“Our mother was murdered,” Shallan said. “That night, as I cried, Jushu held me.” It was all she had.

The man considered. Shallan felt her heart pounding. Finally, he said, “You will have to make up for the balance.”

“Whatever you want. If I can get it out of the house, it’s yours.”

“But you’re already out of the house. Get into the back of the carriage. We’ll only need you for a few minutes.”

Shallan frowned. Did they want her to clean? She was not so pampered to be shamed by such a request. She climbed into the shabby vehicle and found the space spotless. The two men followed her in, crouching. They brought Jushu, too, and tied him on a short leash to the corner.

Shallan’s frown deepened. “There’s nothing to clean here.”

“Nothing but his debt,” the boss said, pointing to her brother. Then the man stuck his thumb into his trousers and pulled the front down enough for him to reach in and pull out a snake-like appendage. Shallan yelped loudly, and the other man wrapped a hand around her mouth before the sound escaped.

Her eyes remained transfixed on the thing that emerged from the man’s crotch. It was _growing_. Her widened eyes were, too.

“You’re quite pretty when you make that face,” he said. “Now, come over here.”

The other man slowly removed his hand from her mouth. “No screaming, okay? Or we’ll gut him.”

Jushu, battered, was delirious in the corner. Shallan nodded and looked back to the boss. He sat with his back to the closed door of the carriage. That _thing_ stood on its own, only leaning to the side a little. It had a bulb-shaped top with a ridge an inch down in the shape of a V.

The boss wrapped his hand around it and stroked. “Come on now. I have business to be about.”

What did he want her to do? She felt like she should know at her age, but the tutors hadn’t gotten to these more… interesting topics yet thanks to father scaring them off one after another. She crawled forward. _Do that stroking thing for him. Just think of it as a practical lesson in anatomy. Yes. I’ll draw this specimen later and work on my proportions. Add it to my collection._

She approached, and from a yard away, she caught its scent. It had the same musk that she washed off herself every day, but a deep richness accented it. A rain-soaked stone compared to her salty-oceanwater pearl. This close, she could see little cilia at the base of that pink bulb at the top. And there was just so many veins along the length—which she was pretty sure was as long as her forearm. When his hand stroked below the arrowhead section, she took a Memory for later. Then, she reached to take it into her hand—

The boss grabbed her beneath the arms and lifted her. She almost yelped again, but caught herself before she made more than a squeak. Jushu was at stake. She had to be careful. He stirred at the sound of her voice, but still did not come to.

“Good girl,” the boss said. He sat her down on his lap such that she straddled him, and his thing dripped some slimy fluid on her silks.

She shivered. She could feel its weight and heat on her stomach. She could feel that fluid on her stomach.

_You can do this… Just grab that thing and move your hand up and down. Simple._

But as she reached, the boss gathered up her skirts and raised them.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, heart racing once again, as she pushed her skirts down. Heat rose in her cheeks and cold pulses of anxiety clawed at her chest. Fearspren and shamespren formed all around.

The boss overpowered her with ease and the next thing she knew, the men were oogling her exposed body, and the boss’ thing was against her stomach, her actual skin.

Eeek! She shook her head as if that could will it away. That hot thing, she decided, was more gross than fascinating.

But things were worse than it being against her stomach. The boss wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her. That pulled her into him, and her breasts pressed to his face. She would put her arms between them if she didn’t need to use her arms below.

His thing was pressing against her private part.

“What—what are you—”

“Did you think your hand was going to repay thirty emerald broams?”

“B—b—but…”

He took her by the waist, his fingers meeting in front and behind, and held their privates firmly in contact, making sloshy sounds. She was so frightened, she could see her limbs trembling. Even if she wasn’t locked in place, she couldn’t run because her knees felt like jelly. She tried to raise herself anyway by bringing her legs together, but he was so much wider than her, her thighs just squeezed him, not moving an inch.

“Is he not worth it?” the boss asked.

Her education was lacking, but she knew in her bones that this was a very, very high price for her and her father’s politics. But she remained silent. Nodded.

“Well then.”

He wiggled her body as if she were weightless, and his heat slipped between her folds, meeting something in her vagina that resisted his advances better than her. She’d felt that membrane when washing. Nothing bigger than a pinky could fit through. His thing was like ten of her pinkies. Its pressure on the membrane sent shooting pain through her legs.

She winced, and clutched the boss’ tunic. The membrane would not be able to resist much longer. For all his crudeness, he lowered her only little by little, waiting for her to calm after each push against that blockage. It had not given completely yet, but she was certain more than a pinky could fit in there now.

A few more tries later, a little drip of warmth ran down his thing.

“It’s gone,” he said.

Just like that? She thought it would rupture dramatically and make her feel the pain of a thousand exploding suns.

“It will get better now. Just relax.”

Relaxing was the one thing she could not do right now. She didn’t know the word for a girl who had never been with a man, but she was no longer that anymore. She’d given it to a thug. A man’s… p… p… A _man’s penis_ was sliding _into_ her. Pain didn’t come in shoots down her legs like before, but it did come. It was like putting off going to the toilet for hours, and then having to force that thick, hard mass out of a much smaller gap. But ten times worse.

She curled into the boss and bit his tunic. He lowered her hips until he bottomed out in her. Try as he might, he could not bring her all the way down to sit on his lap.

“Oh my,” he said. “You make me feel so big.” His penis bulged more.

 _Oh storms, he’s going to break me._ She couldn’t help but squeal.

 _Another_ penis was suddenly before her face. The other man. It was smaller, but pulsed no less. He took her safehand, unbuttoned the pouch, and put his penis in. Her hand shied away, but the boss said, “Now now…”

She turned her face away—whatever that was going to do—and wrapped her fingers around the penis.

“There we go,” the other man said. “Storms her safehand is so soft.” He slowly peeled away her safepouch as if he were uncovering a secret treasure, and she couldn’t help but fluster, circumstances notwithstanding. _Calm down, Shallan. It’s just a hand. You have a_ penis _inside your storming_ body _._

“Shallan?” Jushu said as the other man guided her safehand up and down his length. “What’s going on? Who are… where are… why are they… what are you doing…”

He seemed too shocked to speak. He just stared until his swollen eyes widened and he made sense of the sight of his sister sitting on his creditor’s lap with a lacky’s privates in her safehand.

Then he roared in anger, only for the other man to kick him in the head.

“Jushu!” Shallan screamed as her brother fell back and stared at her motionlessly through his good eye. She scrambled to get to him, but she’d forgotten where she was.

“Shh!” The boss clamped her mouth shut, held her in place, and began to pull out and ram into her with a silencing thrust. A deep, squeezed sound escaped her, and made the men throb. They both became quick about their business as if scared of getting caught before they had their fun. Shallan was not having fun. Why should people have to put part of themselves into someone else? She felt each time he went in and out of her as a sharp pain, an invasion, and... something else. Her lips parted and she panted loudly between her 'sounds'. The boss bit her hanging lower lip as he kept going

The other man peeked outside while keeping her safehand clamped around him, stroking, sliding with the fluids he leaked.

"It's time to finish this," the boss said in hot, panting breaths into her mouth. He locked lips with her, taking her first kiss, licking her tongue, her gums, her teeth. "You ready, pretty girl?"

She didn't know. She didn't think she wanted him to stop. "Ye--yes," she breathed, only then noticing from the side of her eye that Jushu was still absentmindedly watching her.

Her objections died in her mouth as it was invaded once again. Then, the boss grabbed her by her bum—she inhaled sharply and flinched at the awkward sensation of someone else touching it—with thick fingers and used it to lift and drop her onto him repeatedly. Each time, she made that squeezed sound no matter how hard she tried not to.

“You’ve got a... a deep voice... for one so... young,” he said

Her pitch rose as the boss sped up. Something was rising within her. Everything was going up and up, but the world was beginning to spin. Her long red hair bounced around them as he scraped her inside raw. He leaned forward in his vigour, forearms firm against her legs, hands clamping her upper thighs so he could both lift and lower her. She was paper in his hands and it was all she could do to wrap her arms around his neck and make her tongue fight back against his. She couldn't even keep that up for her head soon tilted up, eyes rolling back, mouth agape, a plate for his victorious tongue to feast. Storms, even her mouth was tingling with sensation. She wasn’t certain what happened next. All she knew was she could hear her own voice making disgusting noises as she fell limp and began to shake. Masses extricated themselves from her, leaving voids in her hips and safehand. She tasted sourness, a soft bitterness oozing onto her tongue. She tasted it again. Rough rags wiped her face and between her thighs. Heavy hands hit her cheeks.

“Hey! Hey, girl. Wake up. We don’t have time for you to revel in your orgasm.”

Orgaswhat? Shallan sat up, rubbing her head. Her palm plastered a reeking, half-dried paste onto her temple. That had come from… Oh, storms. With that realisation, she felt a burning between her legs. She clamped a hand into her crotch, wincing, and looked up.

The creditors looked down at her with urgent faces. The boss, especially. She’d had… sex with this man. They would have to get married now. What would father say? He was going to be furious. But there was nothing to be done abou—

“Go on now,” the boss said. “Get.”

Her lips parted and the words felt like a dagger to her chest. She’d ‘slept’ with this man. “Huh?” was all she managed to say.

“You heard me. Get lost. Take your cremling of a brother and go—oh storm it!”

He grabbed her by the arm, threw open the carriage door, and shoved her. Her privates hurt so badly, the shock of pain stunned her and she stumbled over the edge, falling onto her bottom on the road. Despite the pain she pressed her hand against, she still couldn’t help but look up at the boss.

He was tossing her out after… doing that to her. She would be his, if he wished it. They shared something special. But he tossed Jushu out and instructed the other man to pull away. The other man jumped out, stole a kiss from her in a decidedly disgusting way compared to the boss, squeezed her breasts, then went to the front of the carriage.

And just like that, they were leaving. The boss tossed the necklace back to her. “Keep that. Child, if you are wise, you will teach your brother to be more… conservative.” He pulled the door closed, and Shallan’s _first_ was gone, leaving a stupid necklace as the only thing to remember him by.

She stared at it for who knew how long.

What had she brought this here for? Why was she crying?

Jushu stirred.

Yes. She’d come to negotiate for her brother back. They went away with just the daggers?

“Shallan?”

She knelt beside Jushu—storms why was her thing burning so? She tucked her dress in there and untied his bloodied hands. It had not been a half hour since Father had declared that the men could have him, but they had obviously taken that time to show Jushu what they thought of not being paid.

“Shallan?” he asked, lips bloodied. “What have they done to you, little sister? I’m so sorry.”

“What for? Your debt has been paid.”

“But… I saw them rapi—”

Her hand slipped and made his ties scrape a raw part of his skin.

He groaned and continued to protest.

“They took the daggers,” Shallan spoke over him. “The man said they were masterworks. He even gave back my necklace. Did you hurt your head?”

“My ears ring…” he said. “Perhaps I was in a daze. Everything is spinning. I… am I free? Mill really took so little in trade?”

“Obviously, he did not know your true worth.”

Jushu smiled a toothy smile. “Always quick with your tongue, aren’t you?” He climbed to his feet with Shallan’s help and began to limp back toward the house. He did not notice that his little sister limped more than him.

Halfway there, Balat joined them, taking Jushu under his arm. “Thank you,” Jushu whispered. “She says you traded your daggers to save me. Thank you, Brother.” He started weeping.

“I…” Balat looked to Shallan, then back to Jushu. “You’re my brother. Let’s get you back and cleaned up.”

Content that Jushu would be cared for, Shallan left them, walked as if a fire did not burn in her loins with each step, and entered the manor house. She climbed the stairs, passed Father’s glowing room, and entered her chambers. She sat down on the bed, hand clamped firmly against the burn.

There, she waited for the highstorm.

Shouts rose from below. Shallan squeezed her eyes shut.

Finally, the door to her rooms opened.

She opened her eyes. Father stood outside. Shallan could make out a crumpled form beyond him, lying on the floor of the hallway. Minara, the serving maid. Her body didn’t lie right, one arm bent at the wrong angle. Her figure stirred, whimpering, leaving blood on the wall as she tried to crawl away.

Father entered Shallan’s room and shut the door behind him. “You know I would never hurt you, Shallan,” he said softly.

She nodded, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I’ve found a way to control myself,” her father said. “I just have to let the anger out. I can’t blame myself for that anger. Others create it when they disobey me.”

Her objection—that he hadn’t told her to go immediately to her room, only that she shouldn’t leave it once she was there—died on her lips. A foolish excuse. They both knew she’d intentionally disobeyed.

“I would not want to have to punish anyone else because of you, Shallan,” Father said.

This cold monster, was this really her father?

“It is time.” Father nodded. “No more indulgences. If we are to be important in Jah Keved, we cannot be seen as weak. Do you understand?”

She nodded, unable to stop the tears.

“Good,” he said, resting his hand on her head, then running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you. We will get you married soon. You're so pretty now. Which house will give us the most advantage? Plenty looking for a maiden...”

He left her, shutting the door, never having noticed the bloodstains on his daughter’s dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for the commenter(s) who so earnestly wanted more Shallan. I couldn't resist. But THIS will be the last request I'll be taking. Lol. I need some storming self control.


	9. Syl Spawns a Spren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stormfather says it's time for a new spren to coalesce. Syl helps make it happen

Kaladin marched through Urithiru, keeping his chin up, showing the brave face everyone expected. He got countless bows, most from people he didn't know.

"Pleased to meet you, Stormblessed sir," Syl said, floating above his head in her girlish dress. She bowed over and over again, so deeply it was ridiculous. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence, Radiant sir. Look upon my children, Sir sir. Bless them, Mr sir."

"Will you stop?" Kaladin said, though he couldn't help but smile. She giggled and walked alongside him, moving too fast for her small, barefoot steps. "So you're really going to make a new spren today?" he asked.

Syl's shoulders curled in. "Father says it is time. He is filled with energy that wants to come alive."

"How do you do it?"

"How you make babies," Syl said.

"I imagine it would be quite different from _that_."

"It is." She poked her index fingers together. "Kind of."

"What do you mean kind of? Spren don't have bodies. So why would you nee—"

_IT IS TIME._

The Stormfather's voice reverberated through the air, though no one but Kaladin and Syl turned to the east. Her eyes widened and her trembling hands balled up. She made the motions of stepping back, but her body tilted, making it look like she were falling back-first. Her dress and hair billowed upwards as if she were falling, too, but she remained in place. Kaladin had never seen her like this, not in control of herself.

"Syl," Kaladin said under his breath. "Syl, are you okay?"

People looked at him side-eyed, though they knew by now that he had a companion around him at all times. They whispered between themselves, looking around him as if they could see Syl if they tried hard enough. Kaladin suddenly had an overwhelming urge to block Syl from their view. She looked so vulnerable, in suspended animation with those frightened eyes. She turned them to Kaladin, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she was cut off.

_PREPARE YOURSELF, DAUGHTER._

"Why now?" she whispered, glancing at the people around them. "Why here?"

_CARE NOT FOR HUMAN PROPRIETY. YOUR SIBLING WILL ENTER THIS WORLD MOMENTARILY, FORMED OR UNFORMED. I MUCH PREFER THE FORMER._

"Hold on," Kaladin said to the sky. He spoke loudly, but his sound was muffled as a highstorm reached, roaring outside. "How can Syl birth her own sibling? Why do you have to use her?"

 _WE ARE NOT HUMAN,_ the stormfather snapped. With a rage of winds outside, Syl held her stomach and pressed her knees together.

"Not here, Father!"

Onlookers around them gasped, looking directly _at_ her. If they could see her, she really was losing control. She curled into herself, and Kaladin tried to block her from the curious eyes, but she wasn't small enough to cover with his hands. He removed his jacket and held it over her, but an overwhelming force like a lashing pressed him against the wall of the hallway.

_BACK._

Syl screamed and the people shied away. She tried to remain in a curled ball, but it seemed a great force was working against her. Slowly, she was straightened out, laid spreadeagle, back in the position with her dress and hair billowing.

"Father please!" she begged. "Not here!"

_I CAN HOLD IT NO LONGER!_

The highstorm picked up, as great as the worst storms Kaladin had experienced. It sent Syl into another screaming fit, and though she tried to bring her hands to her belly once again, she had no chance. A light of pure, luminescent blue struck her from through the roof, drowning out her screams.

"Syl!" Kaladin screamed. He tried to lash himself towards her, but his body wouldn't take the Stormlight. It was like trying to Lash Shardplate. Simply impossible.

She began to shake and tremble, and Kaladin might have seen wrong, but her legs spread ever so slightly before the luminescent beam brightened twofold and shoved Syl back, squeezing a deep groan from her.

"Kala—" her voice was cut off as the twice bright beam hit her again, pushing her back and making her moan. Time and time again it came, seemingly thrusting her back, although she remained in place.

Kaladin wished he could help her. He wished he could help so many. Yet he never could. Worse still, he was... growing hard.

"Fa—" she said. "Fa—uh, _UH_ —Father! I'm so full! If you pump any more into me, I'll burst!"

Her belly rounded like a woman who was ready to give birth, and it looked so _so_ unnatural on her small frame.

"Father, stop!"

The luminescent beam came threefold, and any further protests from her came in disturbing moans. Body moving as if she were being stormed—which was probably exactly what was happening—she began to glow herself. Her belly stopped expanding, and luminescence shone from between her legs. Her dress peeled back and her legs were brought up in the way Kaladin had been taught to position them if he ever had to deliver a baby.

People eagerly took the opportunity to peek, but Syl did not have a vagina. Her swelling abdomen curved down and around her flat crotch where it split into her glutes. But, but the light certainly came from where her vagina should be, and between flashes, something was undulating below the surface.

_SON OF HONOR, HOLD OUT YOUR ARMS._

Transfixed by those writhing forms beneath her skin, it took Kaladin several seconds to register that he was being addressed. He found that he could move his arms now. It was all he could do, so he obeyed.

And he was bathed in more of Syl's light. It emerged from her like a fountain, and he felt it, warm though blue it was. The moment it showered his skin, he got the impression of a boy. Young, energetic, pure. Syl was going to give birth to a baby boy. He could not explain it, but something made him feel proud. As if he were about to hold his own child.

Syl's screams grew so loud, neither the raging storm nor the stormfather's gushing flow of light could muffle it. Kaladin had heard screams of pain on the battlefield. But he had only heard such visceral pain when woman were brought in to his father's rooms with child. But this... this was something else. This girl had gone into labour, and as she suffered, the baby was being concieved, making her suffer twofold—the way her body moved, it looked like she was being ravaged by a particularly rough lover.

Her legs parted more, for the sake of birth or the light that thrust faster still, who knew. A slit formed in her pubis, as human a genitalia as Kaladin had ever seen until it opened like an eye and showed him a hole into infinity. He was not looking into Syl, then, but into the Cosmere itself. The stormfather's light rushed into her like a torrent, while similtanously, from within, emerged a Luminescence as bright as the stormfather's. His kept storming Syl as if the deed weren't already done. The way it made her feet waggle wildly in the air was obscene.

"Kaladin!" she moaned. Sweat covered her body like a real woman in labour.

"I'm here," he said reassuringly, though he could not tear his eyes from that exchange of light through her vagina.

"Kal! Oh Kaladin I'm so full make him stop I can't take it anymore I'm going to shatter into a million shards!" Her pitch rose to a crescendo and with it, her light sprayed everything in sight. Kaladin was at the centre of her discharge, which started to materialise in his arms as a boy with a simple trousers and shirt. A white-blue spren, motionless. He appeared to be the same age as Syl. Her ejaculates returned from the surfaces they'd splashed and imbued the boy, animating him. He breathed slowly as if he was asleep, and put his thumb into his mouth.

Syl's belly began to deflate and her limbs hung limp at her sides, as did her head. But the stormfather didn't stop. His luminescence bathed her, shoving at her limp body faster and faster until several swells of light forced their way into her cavity. That cavity was closing, so the light pushed its way in in squirts, like a waterskin being repetitively pumped. After the last swell of light, the hole closed, returning to the shape of a vagina with a small clitoral hood that made visible light leaking out from the canal below and oozing down.

_THAT HAS NEVER ESCAPED IN SHADESMAR... QUICK, SON OF HONOR. SHE WON'T WAKE IF YOU DON'T PUT THAT ENERGY BACK INTO HER._

"What?" Kaladin exclaimed. Her girlhood twitched, and panic set in. It was going to close!

He rushed to her, careful not to drop the baby. He... reached into her dress and pressed upturned fingers to her... bottom area, collecting the falling light. He could feel her, unlike the weightless baby in her arms. She was soft and fleshy. The realms must have came together for this event. Kaladin scooped the light and... _You're a surgeon, Kaladin!_

He plunged his finger into her. She sighed, and Kaladin found himself hard again.

_Surgeon!_

Deeper he went, and when he bottomed out in her, knuckles against her blue skin, the light followed him in. His single finger was all she could fit, but as with the luminescence into her gateway to the cosmere, the light pushed it's way into her vagina, which began to shrink. The wet insides of her canal strangled Kaladin's hand and she began to groan again, but he knew if he remove his finger, the light would leak. He'd lose a finger for her. He'd lose more if it meant saving her. He did shift in discomfort, and the light started to enter her faster. So Kal wiggled his finger. Syl began to moan. Not the pain-filled sounds brought on by her father, but soft, girlish sounds that made Kaladin wonder terrible thoughts about how his penis could never fit in here. He shook his head and wiggled that finger, listening to her voice for cues of whether he was hurting her. None came. Only rising pitches and increased breathing and moans in the form of his name until the last puff of light plunged into her. She went stiff around his finger, and he pulled out to the sight of her squirming in the air and touching herself. Her vagina receded, hidden beneath two folds of skin. That skin quickly knit into a continuous flat surface, and Syl came to with a gasp.

Slowly, she tilted upright. The crowd frowned and murmured, looking around as if trying to find her.

She saw them though, and curled into herself.

_IT IS DONE._

The stormfather's rumbling died and the raging storm outside ended. He just left? After almost killing Syl, he just storming left—

Kaladin almost dropped the baby in his free arm. Syl shied away from it.

"Syl..." Kal said. "Syl, he's your—"

"He's not mine."

"But—"

"That's my _brother_ , and it will be a very long time before I forgive him for what he just did to me in front of all those people."

She stood straight, primly, and her girlish dress changed into the havar of an accomplished ward. A bold garment, if it wasn't an obvious overcompensation.

"You saw me..." she said, one hand on her belly, the other over her pubic region.

Kaladin flushed. "I... er..."

"You... were in me..."

"Hey!" a high male voice said, cheery and spry. "Good day, Sister sir, Stormblessed sir!" The baby spren. It stood in Kaladin's arms, then dashed as a ribbon of light in an arc to Syl, where he materialised as a boy again beside her. "Have no fear, human, for I am here. You can bow to my wonderfulness, now."

Kal rose a brow, and Syl's head cocked back.

"I do not sound like that," she said.

"Not at all," Kaladin said. He was still trying to figure out how the spren family tree worked.


	10. Secret Favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan's secrets are discovered and she has to catch the informants before they reach Adolin

Veil dashed around a corner in the back streets of the Urithiru market, and her mark was no where to be seen.

Panting, she held her hand out and summoned Pattern, then dismissed him immediately. "Did you see where he went?"

"He?" Pattern said. "I thought you chased the woman. Mmm. This is a problem."

"Well, did you at least see where she went?"

"I lost them just before you called me."

"Kelek's breath." This was bad. Those two knew what she'd done. If it got out, she'd lose everything.

"I saw where he went." The voice came from the shadows. A grimy man in his seventies or eighties. What was the elderly doing hanging around in ally?

That didn't matter. "Tell me," Veil said, bracing to run.

"It gets lonely here in Urithiru."

"Huh?"

"Lonely."

"What are you talking about, old man," Veil snapped.

Easy, Shallan cautioned. Have some empathy.

This isn't the time Shallan. I'm trying to stop those two for your sake.

"What do you want," Veil asked. "A hug?"

"Hugs are cheap--"

"Suck your dick?"

He perked up.

You most certainly will not, Radiant said.

We're married! Shallan said. We can't go around blowing people.

You're married. Besides, that just means we're experienced. We should use whatever skills we have. We're spies, remember that.

Veil got her coat tails out of the way and dropped onto her knees, unbuckling the excited man's pants. Shallan tried to force her way to the front, but it wasn't hard staying in control when Veil already was.

A long shlong emerged and Veil took it in without time to waste.

This tasted raw, musky. Unlike Adolin--who Shallan had let Veil secretly eat now and then. He was far too clean for Veil.

You're cheating on my husband. Shallan curled in on herself.

He's your husband. I'm not married. Veil punctuated her words with loud GLUCK GLUCKs. It was nice to taste a different cock, feel a different shape. The thrill and novelty of it almost overpowered her desperate urge to make haste.

She lowered her Larynx as if she were going to sing a high note, and leaned forward. That was a trick Navani taught Shallan to take a man deeper. It was also useful when she didn't want to gag--which wasn't often, since the sound excited Adolin to no end.

It seemed to excite other men, too, for the hobo took Veil's head and brought it into his thrusting hips. Again and again. Harder. Faster.

Clock-ug clog-ugk!

Shallan was crying now.

What a downer, especially since they were getting to the good part.

With a hand helping to stimulate the cock and a safehand massaging the balls, the man groaned and half squatted, thrusting rapid fire until BOOM.

Ew... Shallan said.

Veil swallowed the slimy load. More came, and she did he best to minimise its time on her tongue. Veil quite liked this man's sourness, but there was no reason to make Shallan suffer.

Veil pulled it out of her mouth and looked up, keeping the stroking going. "Where did he go?" she asked the man.

He still seemed to be reeling.

Veil stuck her tongue out and licked the remaining semen caught in his foreskin. _Bare with me she told Shallan._

"Yes, right there, press your tongue into the slit--oh, yes just like that. He met with a woman here just before you came and decided to go straight to the..."

"The?"

He lifted his ballsack to her face and squatted further, the scrotum spreading across her mouth and nose. Storms that was a sharp scent. Veil licked and sucked it into her mouth, one wrinkled testicle at a time. The soft corrugated skin actually felt good to the tongue. Adolin was far too smooth for Veil.

I've broken my vows, Shallan was murmuring. I've broken my vows to suck a stranger's balls in a back alley like a whore.

Now she was just being dramatic.

Veil got beneath the man and sucked his sac good while she took his cock back in her safehand and resumed stroking. When she began pumping it as vigorously as she sucked, their breaths growing heavy, he spoke.

"The boss," he said, pushing her head back and aiming his cock. " They were going to meet the boss." He came on her face—Shallan wanted to scream, but Veil let him shoot both eyes. "I always see them having meetings on 15th Emerald Street."

Veil gave his meat an audible smooch and rose, dusting her knees and wiping her face. Then, she ran towards the road. No time to look back. She just had to get to 15th...

A sign at the end of the road spelled '15th Emerald Street'

No...

Veil spun around, and the hobo's clothes went up in a plume of light, his raggad garments vanishing, leaving him in the black clothes of the man she had been chasing.

He smirked at her and tipped his hat. "Thanks for the head," he said, patting his crotch. "But it is time to go. If you're ever interested, I'd be happy to return the favour." He flicked his tongue. "Just let me know."

He ran, and the woman Pattern had been chasing materialised from the shadows itself, sprinting away. She giggled.

"Mmm," Pattern said. "Good lies. Shouldn't we follow?"

Veil stared at their backs, her hair bleeding to red, defeated. She was the pursuer, but her prey had not just gotten away, had not just beaten her at her own game, but had also made her suck his dick. His taste haunted Shallan's mouth all the way back to her chambers.

She didn't have to worry about adultery, for her secret had gotten to Adolin already. He demanded divorce on those grounds rather than the taste in her mouth. She was thrown out, Knight Radiant or not, and she desperately tried to wash her mouth with water from a puddle, as if that would change anything. It didn't. It didn't even take the taste away. She found the man who'd destroyed her life and when he took her in, she spread her legs and let him return the favour.


	11. An Eye Opening Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight Radiants are being captured and used to earn money. Shallan is one such Radiant, but sex isn't the work expected of her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is NOT for the faint hearted

Drolord entered his office with a water filled jar in hand and a pouch of gemstones in pocket. The office was cramped but he didn't mind it much, dank though it was. It only needed to cater to 2 people at a time, and each appointment only took a minute.

He sat at his desk and placed his jar down. In the water hung dozens of white globes. They each had a colourful centre, blues, violets, greys, green. Beautiful, really. That was good enough reason for the high price they fetched, but of course, others were interested in more mundane things like the power they granted.

An echo rang outside.

Ah. His work had arrived. The tunnel cut below the chasms amplified the approaching footsteps, as did it the rap on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened. Dirk, a fat darkeyed man reversed into the room, and a wheeled chair trailed him. In it was a girl with long red hair, tangled and matted here and there. Freckles spotted her dirty face, and though her skin held the fullness of youth--she was well fed--she was willowy. Muscle atrophy. A consequence of being held into that chair with straps around her naked ankles, waist, wrists, neck, and forehead.

Drolord rose and rounded his table. He stroked the girl's hair. "How are you doing, Blue 7?"

She flinched, eyes closing, body shuddering with each touch.

"There's no need to be afraid," he said. "You've done this so many times now. We only need one today. There won't be any surprises, I promise."

That didn't calm her.

"Actually," Dirk said, his gaudy body took up half the space in front of the desk. "Last time you promised me..."

Oh storms. The higher ups had banned Drolord from giving any of the stuff in the jar to his friends. Right before Dirk's turn had come. So Drolord felt bad and offered him something else.

"You can play with her, but after my work is done."

Dirk perked up.

"And leave no trace of it on her. We don't want that getting banned, too."

Dirk nodded eagerly. Well, he wouldn't have to wait long. Drolord's work didn't take much time. He just had tons of appointments a day.

"All right, let's begin." Drolord dusted his hands on his trousers and removed the lid from the jar. The colourful globes inside bobbed as the lid came off, releasing a sweet scent.

Dirk grimaced and pinched his nose. Most didn't have the capacity to appreciate beauty, but very few feared it. The girl began to cry.

"It's going to be okay," Dirk told the girl as he wrapped his arms around the chair and fondled her bare breasts.

"Enough of that. You can have your fun later." Drolord peeled Dirk and his rolls of fat off the wheelchair. Embedded into the rear of the backrest was a medium sized ruby with a disk of swirling shapes trapped inside. The girl's spren. In the early days of business, they hadn't expended the money to purchase the nearly perfect gemstones needed to hold a high spren. That had been a mess. The spren had all eventually broken the bond with their Radiant and escaped, leaving their partner unable to heal. That wouldn't do. Buying those perfect gems wasn't just a beautiful decision, but the economical one, too. Now, the Knights stayed Knights and the business made more profits than it could handle.

Drolord tapped the pretty gem, and brought the wheelchair to his table. He opened his drawer, and by time he removed his equipment, the girl was weeping.

That was fine. It made things easier. He took his equipment--a metal device like scissors, but instead of blades, it had two half circles on the end--and pressed the girl's head back by her forehead.

She shook terribly. At least she didn't make any arguments, having given that up months ago.

Her eyes still widened in fright though. When he raised his equipment, she shut her eyes.

Nothing he couldn't solve. Hand still on her forehead, he lowered his thumb to her brow and pulled up.

Lovely blue eyes stared at him, so open that whites surrounded the irises.

Yes, she was the right choice. He had several in his jar already, but a batch could always use more of Blue 7's eyeballs. Out of the white spheres floating in there, her blue centers were the most beautiful of all.

Shallan Davar, her name used to be. Not that it mattered.

She was whining now and trying to thrash, but Drolord still delicately placed his device between her top and bottom eyelid. It held her terrified eye open, but not open enough.

Widening his scissor fingers made the device open her eye more. White surrounded blue again until finally, pink surrounded white. The human face was just so beautiful. Widening the scissors a bit more made it impossible for her to continue her profuse attempts to blink. When widened so much, the eyelid muscles just put pressure on the eyeball from top and bottom, nudging it forward ever so slightly so that Drolord could get his fingers in either side of it and...

It took a little fiddling sometimes, what with the scissors and the girl shaking and screaming, but Drolord got a good grip of the slippery ball between his thumb and forefinger and pressed.

With the accompaniment of high pitched screams, the eyeball bulged from the socket with a sloppy pop. It was the sound a woman's hungry genitals made when penetrated.

Musical though it was, Dirk turned away. People like him always did, but what could be more pleasing to the eye than the full spectacle of the human eye itself, living, presented from the socket of a beautiful lighteyed girl?

His favourite part was when, in her struggles, she opened the other eye, and he got to see one ball in, one ball out. What a big difference two simple folds of skin made. Eyelids! Infinitely more fascinating than labia or clitoral hoods.

As he mused, he worked the ball, letting it slip a little in before squeezing it out again. Her tears kindly lubricated the process, and with each squeeze, the eye bulged a little more until he could get his fingers behind it. He did so, fingers slipping back and resting on either side of the highly tensioned optic nerve.

He removed the eyelid scissors, and the lids closed behind his fingers, flat now without a ball behind it. A streak of blood ran down the side like a crimson tear.

Beautiful.

Drolord grabbed actual scissors and snipped the optic nerve.

The ball popped off and he enclosed it in his hands before it fell. He turned his back to the screaming girl and reached for his jar. Blue 7's precious eyeball plopped safely in, and he tightened the lid.

"All right," Drolord said to Dirk and thumbpointed at the girl. "Make it quick."

"Uhm... Aren’t you going to fix that first?"

Drolord only had precisely enough Stormlight for the girl to heal once. If he used that and Dirk hurt her, the higher ups would find out and put on more restrictions, and then what would Drolord do when he wanted to have some fun with his patients?

"No," he said firmly.

Dirk hesitated, but he most definitely couldn't resist the bulge in his trousers with a naked woman in the room.

"Fine." Dirk dropped his pants. Blue 7 had stopped screaming by now, and just wept softly, her good eye watching Dirk as he began to fiddle with her straps.

Drolord hit his hands away. "What are you doing?" He grabbed the scissors. "Who sent you? How did they find--"

"I just wanted to fuck her, I swear!" Dirk raised his hands.

"You don't need to release her for that! Storms, this is a Knight Radiant. Do you want to die?"

"Huh? How am I supposed to fuck a woman whose sitting in a wheelchair?"

"You make do."

Blue 7's good eye lowered, resigned. She was well acquainted with this extra service, for she usually provided it to Drolord. He'd have used her today himself, if Dirk hadn't wanted a piece.

"But she'll bite..." Dirk said. "You said it yourself. She's a Knight Rad--"

"Oh silence, Dirk. You're so dull sometimes, even a lighteyes implant would go dark in your skull. I'll just show you."

Drolord pulled out his cock, turned the girl's—Blue 7, formerly known as Shallan Davar—head towards him and fucked her face, shoving his dick between the luscious folds of skin called eyelids. Her suffering winces, grimaces, and frowns made her lid, brow, and cheek muscles massage him like nothing else. With some urging, Dirk joined. Drolord's dick out, Dirk's in, Dirk out, Drolord in. The hole made sloppy sounds like a pussy, and soon they were pulling her head this way and that, alternating their thrusts until they gave her two massive socketpies. Dirk came first. He held her to himself, his rolls of belly fat sitting atop her head, his thick fingers clutching her red hair at the temples. Drolord worried for the girl's neck as Dirk bucked, pumping her up. When he pulled out, Drolord quickly followed, twisting the head to him and keeping the eye from leaking with his own cockhead. Thrust, _thrust_ _THRUST_! Oh the back of a socket felt so good. That gentle tickle and twitch from the severed optic nerve was better than any tongue. Those surrounding facial muscles were tighter than any pussy. Nothing else could make him unload like this, and hers was one of the best. Thrust. Buck. Thrust! Squish, slurp, _squish_. By time he'd drained himself in her skull, the fluid pressure was so high it was pushing him out. He withdrew, and her eyelid reflexively closed. It bulged so much, it looked like there was an eye beneath. But alas, the hole was so full, it still leaked, and she cried creamy semen tears.


	12. Failed Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan tries to Lightweave her way into a men's only room. It doesn't work.

"Drop your trousers," the inspector told Veil, unconvinced.

Damn these checks. Ever since the orders had become common knowledge, Lightweaving had become doubly hard.

But she had to try. If she didn't, she'd never get into the men's chambers where Restares hid.

So she tried not to blush as she squirmed her pants around her hips--her thighs had grown a little this last year--and that put a frown on the inspector's face.

His eyes tracked up to her chest. She'd wrapped the girls up this morning good, though it wasn't that necessary. Unlike her thighs, her breasts had not grown into her and Adolin's nocturnal activities.

Satisfied that she was flat enough, the man eyed her reluctant hands on her beltline.

Oh storm it! She shoved her trousers down, and it fell to her ankles. Standing bare before this stranger, without even a shift to cover her, she could not stop the reddening.

What was she to do but keep up the charade and hope for the best?

The man's gaze assaulted her colorless thighs, and came to rest on the half limp length hanging between them. Pale as she was, the circumcised penis was as convincing as any she'd seen. Well, she'd only seen one in person, and this was from an exact drawing of it.

"Well?" Veil asked in her modulated male voice. "You done or you just going to ogle me?"

The inspector tilted his head, looking at it with a frown on his face.

Perhaps he was interested in men, and taking advantage of the situation. She could work with that.

Shallan made it harden, twitching and rising as she fed it Stormlight. She didn't need to lightweave blush, because a stranger still very well stared directly at her naked lower body.

He walked towards her.

Huh?

She stepped back.

"Afraid of something?" the man asked reaching.

Please stop please stop please stop!

Her back met wall and she fumbled, "This is sexual harassment!"

"No man has ever complained about frisking. You're welcome to get frisked by a woman at the entrance of the women's quarters."

He was testing her resolve. He would stop before he touched her. Frisking bare like this couldn't be legal--unless of course he was right, which he was, and she left, which she'd have to do if his hand didn't stop.

But the hand didn't stop. It passed through her penis, and she winced as his hand cupped her crotch.

Her thighs squirmed, and he smirked. "Got you."

His hand lingered in his 'inspection' far longer than it should have, finger wedged between her folds. She internally apologised to Adolin as the man drew his hand back in an upward stroking motion—

He stuck his finger in her.

She squeaked, lips parted in shock. Radiant or not, with this man looming over her, she was fourteen again, cowering from her father. Like a foolish girl, she froze. Not that she could summon Pattern in Shadesmar, but she'd been trained regardless. Yet it was all she could do to flail like a fool, getting her shoved against the wall by her pussy. His rough hand crushed her clit as he dug up into her with his thick, gyrating finger. The force of him saw her heels come off the floor, and she stood on her tip toes, wincing.

And just as quickly, he drew his finger from her and rubbed her moisture on her cheek.

"Go on now, little girl. None of this Lightweaver business here"--he winced, nose close to the cheek wetted with discharge. "What have you been eating? It's not doing your flavour any favours.'

She shivered. As fast as she could manage she rushed out pulling up her trousers, abandoning the failed mission shouting, "I ate spicy men's food, storm me!"

The inspector licked his fingers. "Actually, it's not that bad." He winked, and she ran faster.


	13. An Eye-Opening Experience (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shallan, Blue 7, comes in for routine maintenance, and gets some free service, too

Drolord lay a sedated Blue 7 across his lap. Her softness blanketed him from this cold chasm office, and her red hair fell to her sides, revealing her entire back, providing his work with the pleasures the feminine form. Her spine ran like an arrow past the small of her waist where her form widened into the heart shape of her southern cleavage.

Her bottom was filled out by the plumpness of youth, with a rich texture of reds beneath her pale skin. Little hairs of red broke the smooth form, so he plucked them out with tweezers. Grooming her was not his job, but the finished product was worth the time, even if it delayed his work.

She twitched on each pluck, and the follicles flared red. They matched the other spots of red from injections and her numerous pressure sores from spending all day in a wheelchair. Those little bumps were so smooth to the touch.

She twitched when his finger ran over them, and he said, “Sorry, my dear.”

Getting back to work, he traced his finger to the dark-pink circle of her anus. It was held open by a silver cylinder, one inch thick, with a cap on the end. That acted as a valve when connected to an accompanying cylinder that projected from her chair. Her catheter, a silver tube, ran down from her pee hole, around either side of her vagina, and between her cheeks to connect to her anal cylinder.

It was that time of the week. Clean her plumbing. He unclipped the tie joining the end of the catheter to her metal anus and quickly plugged the ends before a trickle began. Then, he pushed the catheter into her as deep as it could go.

It must hurt, for she groaned. But that was the only way to detach it from the mountings implanted in her bladder. With a click, the tube unlocked.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “Just the routine cleaning.”

He pulled it out of her with a quick, curved motion and she groggily squealed, thighs pressing together. He hated to hurt her, but her reaction was just so cute. He reinstalled the catheter and yanked it out again. She even cried this time!

Oh no she was leaning. He quickly corked her pee hole. He didn’t really mind her messing him, so he went on with his business. Taking the anal cylinder between his thumb and forefinger, he carefully pulled it out in a rotating motion. He had to be careful. The corrugated opening was so loose, it would precess if he pulled out too quickly. He’d found out the hard way. Multiple times. And had received his last warning from the higher ups. So he unscrewed it from her slowly, and a penis-length later, it was out, revealing a gaping hole that could not close on its own anymore.

Drolord saw into Blue 7, her flowing, fleshy depths. A shame he had to keep it sealed it while he was cleaning.

He gently stroked her bum and said, “This will only hurt for a moment. Don’t bend.”

“Uh-uh!” she tried to say, but was cut off by her own drowsy grunt as he shoved a one-and-a-half-inch thick rod into her. Her torso straightened and she began breathing heavily. He’d cut this rod himself, so had made it a little extra long. It bottomed out where her gut bent near the sternum, and ended in a butt-plug with the pattern of her spren. A nice touch, if Drolord said so himself.

Keeping her stiff also helped with the final step of the process, so the length was a practical choice, too. But that came later. For now, he soaked her silver in alcohol and, while it was being disinfected, he played with her pussy. Heck he even took his cock out and fucked her. In all kinds of positions. It was hard moving her half-sedated body around, but it was endlessly amusing to watch how she tried and failed to hold herself straight to accommodate the butt-plug. She was too weak to, so often slipped or flopped over, creating all kinds of interesting bulges around her abdomen.

Drolord himself could feel the thing in her, a hardness on the underside of his cock. It made her feel so tight, and was titillating when it twisted with her motions. There was no chance of injuring her, since he’d smoothed and polished the end of the rod himself. He could feel his expert craftsmenship when he grabbed it through her bulge, and pulled on it to squeeze his dick more.

This was it. He was getting there almost as fast as her socket could take him. Then he thought of something that could make him match or beat the socketpie time. He uncorked her peehole and stuck his finger in.

Why was she screaming so loud? The higher ups were going to hear her. He had to be quick!

He wiggled his finger in her urethra and yanked on her butt-plug through her bulging navel, giving his cock the tightest all-around massage ever. In no time, his seed was gushing out, giving her a more traditional creampie.

She fell back onto his table, breasts sliding up her collar bones, her bulge moving just below her left rib. _Storms…_ He ran his fingers down her stomach. That felt good. He leaned back, pulling out of her and plopping back into his chair. He pulled her with him, and held her sitting on his knee. She limply leaned over on his shoulder, and her far side was held up awkwardly. With her sitting on her behind, the rod was pushed up more, putting pressure on her rib cage.

That wouldn’t do. It was time to finish her up anyway. Her precious eyes she’d donated—and regrown—this week was going out this afternoon, and the shipment was always accompanied by fresh stem cells from her.

Drolord turned her over once again, her belly to his knees, and yanked out her plug. She kicked so hard, her toe knuckles clicked as they hit the floor. “Gentle with me, Daddy,” she was mumbling as the removed rod allowed her body to curl around his legs.

If she was going to call him ‘Daddy’, why would he stop what he was doing?

He yanked out her pee hole cork just as hard, and plunged the catheter in its place. The small little hole was always so accepting of the penetration, despite her protests.

Taking the anal cylinder out had been a gentle process, but putting it back in forcefully had no risk. If anything, it would make the chance of precession even lower.

But when he shoved it into her, it went in too easily.

“Your ass just gets bigger and bigger each time. I wonder why. He reached for a new, larger cylinder. One-and-a-half inches thick, like the plug. That required force to plant, and she went stiff again. “Next cleaning, this plug won’t seal, and you will leave stools all over my floors. I’ll have to make a two inch plug.”

She wept.

Drolord stood her up and bent her over the table. From his sitting position, she looked like quite the site, standing on her toes, ass in his face, chest on his table. He got hard, so he fucked her again, this time pressing on her abdomen to make the metal of the catheter tube massage him from the inside.

With that, and his hips slamming into her, setting her flesh jiggling, he finished on her lower back.

Satisfied, he grabbed the syringe from the table. It had a thick needle, since it was meant to extract bone marrow rather than blood. He pressed the tip to her bum, and the soft flesh caved, not admitting the needle at first. When the needle breeched, the skin sprung up, allowing the point to penetrate faster. He felt it pass through tougher tissue and then hit bone.

Blue 7 was struggling and making all kinds of sounds, but they were all much more insignificant than she seemed to thing they were. A Radiant wouldn’t be allowed out of their chair without being incapacitated. She was currently trying to swing her arm back and grab the syringe. She didn’t even reach halfway before her arm fell back to the table.

As he watched her, enzymes at the tip of the needle dissolved a point of bone, allowing him to sink the device deeper. It went _into_ her hip. He felt it as a stiffening of both her and the syringe. It was now only able to move in a straight line. He pushed it all the way in, until the point was at the centre of the bone, where the freshest marrow the body produced lay. This saw the syringe pushing against her bottom, making it look like a cushion with a button sewn in the middle. Regardless, the syringe was a fabrial, and had begun drawing marrow from her the moment it bottomed out. Whitish-red fluid began to fill the tube. He left it there while it did, grabbed the second syringe, and planted it into her other cheek.

Then he sat back and pulled his chair so close to her, he had to part his legs. With her legs between his, she was positioned so he could have some entertainment while he waited. There was only one thing to do.

The one-and-a-half inch butt plug went into her pussy. It jutted out over his shoulder, making it really easy for him to grab it in a stabbing grip and give her a really good fucking. When he grew bored of that, he opened the cap on her anal cylinder and spoke into her, listening for an echo. There was none, but he received an audible… response. His nose picked up the response, too. Wouldn’t do that again.

He replaced the cap and was pleased to find the fabrials blinking, full.

And Blue 7 absolutely drained. She just lay there, eyes black, staring out to the side as if something fascinating was on the table beside her. Well, bone marrow was important. That was why it was needed to facilitate lighteye implants. She’d get just enough Stormlight to replenish herself, and no more

He removed the makeshift dildo, as well as the syringes. Two cute little tears of blood beaded on her butt cheeks, and with a solid spank, they ran down to her feet.

“Why me?” she mumbled without expression. She began to slip, and her toes tried and failed to grip the floors. She hung on the table by her upper body.

Drolord had a third round in him. He whipped out his cock and put it in her. “Because you,” _thrust_ , “have some of the,” he grabbed her by the love handles rhythmically slapped hip to ass, “lightest eyes in the land,” he lay onto her back and humped her into oblivion, “and need to be kept in check to boot.”

He rose and came on the dry cum on her lower back. Before it liquefied and ran down, he thought of an experiment. What if he gave her something other than Stormlight? What if he replaced that bone marrow himself?

He grabbed the fabrial syringe, made it draw his semen up, and then he plunged it into her hip. He reversed the fabrial, and the syringe ejected his seed into her bones. Her body clenched up despite her limpness, and her lips parted.

“He you go,” he said, _sliiiding_ the plunger down. Her mouth widened with it. Gorgeous. He had to find more. His second round of semen had dried on her back, but most of it had run off. He found it in large droplets on the floor. So he made sure the syringe was solidly in place, and grabbed the second one. There wasn’t much to draw from the floor, so he put the needle into her vagina and drew whatever he could from his first ejaculation. Lots of her grey wetness came with it.

Into her free cheek the needle went, then deep into bone. He hit the plunger, and with a loud squirt sound, he filled up that side of her hip, too. Holding both syringes sticking out of her cheeks like this, it felt like he were riding some strange little chull.

Oh geez. The urge for a fourth round came. He fucked her, using the needles as handholds. Each time he yanked on them, she clenched up in that strange limp way and soon he had even more seed to inject. He drew half into each syringe and embedded it into her soul.

Fucked to the core. He’d just given a new meaning to cumming ‘in her’. Bonepie.

She’d be fine. Probably. He’d find out soon enough. Would just have to make an excuse to have her sent down to him later. But it couldn’t be bad enough to violate his final warning. Ah. He pushed the catheter into her, unmounting it from her bladder. But he didn’t pull it out. He’d ‘remember’ later that he forgot to secure it.

She still lay there, still. Didn’t even flinch when he had prepared the catheter for removal. Looked like his seed didn’t energise her yet. Oh well. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the table. After 3 rounds, his back really burned, even carrying a light girl like this. She hung forward, arms and hair dangling, all the way to her wheel chair. He heaved her so that she hovered in sitting position above the two projections in the chair. The rear one went in first, slipping into her anal cylinder with a metallic clink. The long tube immediately straightened her back, orientating her perfectly for the vaginal lock. It was a solid metal rod that now looked boring compared to his custom plug. This one on the wheelchair was the standard design for girls her age.

Either way, she would struggle to escape it, especially considering that her catheter tube hooked into a notch on that dildo, and when her bottom hit the seat, her anal cylinder locked in place. He strapped her in for good measure, foot to forehead, and caller her porter.

He turned the syringes with her bone marrow in his hands, sad to see her go. But at least he had an excuse to see her later.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy a fanfic, please leave a comment and kudos. It will make the author's day, and make this all worth their time


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